


Heirs Of Gore

by Izzyfandoms, MagicQuill42



Series: Blood Guts and Gore [6]
Category: Cartoon Therapy (Web Series), Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Angst, Background Character Death, Blood, Blood and Gore, Deceit Sanders Has a Different Name, Family Fluff, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Multi, Murder, Sympathetic Deceit Sanders, Violence, serial killer au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:46:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 32
Words: 67,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23837791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Izzyfandoms/pseuds/Izzyfandoms, https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagicQuill42/pseuds/MagicQuill42
Summary: (MAIN STORY 3 OF THE BLOOD GUTS AND GORE SERIES)It's been twelve years since the infamous Royal Court case. Twelve years since the four Sanders husbands escaped from jail and went into hiding. Twelve years since the four brothers last saw their fathers in person.Now, the four Sanders brothers are all grown up, having learnt to navigate adult life on their own, and still involved in the very same crimes that got their fathers convicted in the first place.(The name Dorian is used for Deceit)
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil/Creativity | Roman/Logic | Logan/Morality | Patton, October | Toby Sanders/Dr. Emile Picani, Procrastination | Nate Sanders/Deceit Sanders
Series: Blood Guts and Gore [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1215180
Comments: 234
Kudos: 209





	1. Prologue

Click. Click. Click.

The heels of the new guy’s shoes clicked as he walked up to the Captain’s office. For a moment, that was the only sound that Nate heard – the man caught everyone’s attention, without even lifting a finger, without even looking around at them. It was impressive, and unsurprising.

He entered the office, the door clicking shut behind him, and the rest of the cops all immediately gathered around Nate’s desk, eyes alight with gossip.

“Okay, first of all, I’m not the only one who thinks he’s hot, right?” One of them said, elbowing Nate.

Nate hummed in agreement, his eyes never leaving the man’s frame, still visible through the office’s window.

The others voiced similar agreements.

“And, secondly,” The detective’s eyes practically shone as they said this, eager to share the rumours they’d found. “I heard he’s a  _ Sanders _ .”

“A what?”

“A Sanders. You know, like Roman Sanders? Infamous serial killer? A part of the Royal Court? The gang he dragged his kids into?”

It had been twelve years since the Royal Court case hit the world – still considered unsolved, as the four Sanders husbands still hadn’t been caught – but every cop in the room immediately recognised the name.

“And they let him join the force?” Another asked, surprised.

The first shrugged. “He was just a kid, it’s not like he  _ wanted  _ to be involved. I mean, what  nine-year-old goes up to their dad and asks to be a serial killer? And none of the kids were ever convicted of anything, right?”

“Still...”

The office door swung open, and the Captain stepped out, closely followed by the new guy.

“Squad, this is the new detective. Please give him a warm welcome.”

He stepped forward. “Gentlemen. Ladies. Those of you who know better. My name is  Detective Dorian Sanders, it’ll be an honour working with you all.”

Dorian made brief eye contact with Nate, who suddenly realised that he’d been staring, but was too busy looking him up and down- admiring him- to particularly care. His hair was long enough to be tied back in a ponytail, out of his face, and he had both heterochromia and vitiligo. He’d stand out in any crowd. His expression was straight-faced, but if Nate had to assign an emotion to it, he’d call him borderline smug.

Nate checked him out once more, just to make sure that this gorgeous man in front of him was real, and not a product of his imagination.

While he was doing this, his co-workers had finished making their introductions, and the Captain had turned back to Dorian.

“Come, I’ll show you to your desk.”

Nate watched as Dorian was led away, and then leaned over to the first cop, elbowing them and opening his mouth, never taking his eyes off Dorian.

“Dibs.”


	2. Chapter One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey so SPOILERS FOR THE NEW EPISODE but we're keeping Deceit's name as Dorian for now - though we're probably going to fit the name Janus somewhere at some point.

Dorian had been through a lot of coworkers in his life, by now. So, he had gotten used to the nosy stares and the pointed gazes and the general whisperings of his name that followed him like a black cloud of mist. He could tune all that out. 

It was a little harder to tune out the way the guy at the desk across from him kept staring. There didn’t seem to be malice behind it, he was just... watching, glancing up regularly to look him over. Maybe he thought that because of those big sunglasses he was wearing, Dorian couldn’t actually tell where he was looking. Unfortunately for that guy, Dorian had had too much experience with his own brother for that to be the case. 

After about twenty minutes, Dorian finally looked up at him with a practiced, polite smile. 

“Can I help you?” 

“You’ve got the books on your desk,” The guy said bluntly. 

“...What?” 

Mr. Sunglasses pointed to the corner of his desk, at the first edition copies of ‘A Dozen Years of Blood’, Roman’s book series– with the Sanders name proudly emblazoned on the cover in gold font. 

“And?” 

He shrugged. “Just seems a little weird. If that’s a legacy you’re trying to get away from, you wouldn’t normally keep it on your desk.” 

Dorian snorted a little. This guy was sharper than he looked. 

“Well, since it’s _totally_ your business, I’ll explain.” He hefted up the smaller of the two books and placed it in front of himself. “This one is the last of the series. Unlike all the others, it was written by my older brother, Emile. I’m very proud of him for completing it, even though he’s not interested in writing full time, so I keep it on my desk. But, since it looks weird to just have one book on your desk, I grabbed the first of the series and put it on there, too. Plus... how often do you come across murder mysteries written by an actual murderer?” 

The man paused for a second, before snorting. “Yeah, alright, that’s fair. Why tell me all that, though?” 

Dorian shrugged and returned Emile’s book to its spot. “You had the decency to ask me an original question. Most people see the books and assume that I’m insane, or that the whole traumatizing ordeal was a sham.” 

“Was it?” 

Dorian rolled his eyes. “If it was, is here where I would be?” 

The answer was yes, but Mr. Sunglasses didn’t have to know that. But he seemed to take that as an answer and shrugged with a lazy grin. 

“Must be annoying,” He said. “All those people assuming the worst of you, just because of what happened way back in the past.” 

Dorian smiled wryly. “Twelve years ago is hardly a lifetime.” 

“Not that you’re keeping track or anything.” He chuckled and held out a hand. “Detective Nate Cockayne, at your service.” 

Dorian accepted his hand. “I assume you know my name, then?” 

“Committed it to memory,” Nate smiled. “So, you meet anyone else in the bullpen yet?” 

Dorian shrugged. “They’ve met me. I think Peralta is trying to find a way to ask me about being raised by serial killers without coming off as rude.” 

“He will probably ask in a rude way at some point,” Nate laughed. “His only braincell is on maternity leave. So, apologies for him in advance.” 

“Noted.” 

“Anyone else?” 

Dorian shrugged. “Most everyone.” 

Nate pointed at a couple of people by the coffeemaker. “Them?” 

“...I haven’t exactly made the rounds, yet,” Dorian said. 

Nate grinned. “Well, come on then! The worst part of a new job is meeting everyone, so you might as well get it all over with!” 

“Or, I could stay at my desk and not deal with any of that, ever.” 

Nate laughed and stood. “Nah, Rosa already tried that.” 

Dorian huffed, standing, too, and noting with displeasure that Nate was easily at least a head taller than him. 

“Alright,” He sighed. “Let’s get this over with.” 

Nate guided him over to the coffee machine and presented him with a lazy flourish. 

“Joan, Talyn, meet our next top detective!” 

The one in the orange beanie chuckled and held their hand out to Dorian. “Detective Joan Stokes.” 

“Just call me Talyn,” The other said. 

Dorian shook both their hands with his best Customer Service Certified smile. “Pleasure to meet you both. I’m Detective Dorian Sanders, but you probably already knew that.” 

“Your reputation precedes you,” Joan grinned. “And the fact that the captain announced you a few hours ago didn’t hurt.” 

Dorian felt his smile grow sardonic. “Yes, well. I look forward to working with everyone here. Going to be the highlight of my life, I’m sure.” 

Joan snorted. “Ah, you’re very sarcastic, huh? I can respect that. Personally, I don’t like half the people here either, but Nate and Talyn are okay.” 

Talyn raised an eyebrow. “I’d better be. Not like we’re dating or anything.” 

“Which naturally makes you my favorite.” Joan grinned crookedly. 

Dorian snorted at that and saluted them both casually. “Well, it’s a pleasure meeting you both, but I do have a lot of busy work to get done.” 

“No problem man, see you.” 

He returned to his desk, Nate following shortly after. He was able to get a small amount of work done before a piece of paper slid across his desk. 

He picked it up, looking over at Nate. “And this would be...?” 

“My number.” Nate said easily. “In case you wanna talk later about the workplace or get all the hot gossip on everyone.” 

Dorian snorted and slipped the paper into a nearby pencil holder. “Right. I’ll keep that in mind.” 

“Hey man, I’m just sayin. Friendship is the best ship, right?” 

“Clearly you’ve never heard of the Queen Ann’s Revenge.” 

“Well, why don’t you dial my number, sometime, and tell me?” 

Dorian smirked. “We’ll see.” 

*** 

The rest of the day passed uneventfully, but Dorian was all too glad to get back to his apartment, looking forward to sinking into his bed and enjoying a glass of wine. Unfortunately for him, when he went to unlock the door, he found it already open. 

He pushed it open with an irritated sigh and stepped inside. 

“Hello, people who don’t live here.” 

“Hi!” His brothers chorused. 

He rolled his eyes and dropped his bag and badge onto their hooks. “Anyone wanna explain the impromptu visit?” 

“It’s our baby bro’s first day on the job!” Remy cheered. “Where else would we be?” 

Dorian held back another eye roll, instead crossing to the couch Remy was draped over and plucking the glass from his hand. 

“How many is this?” He asked, waving it in front of his face. 

Remy shrugged. “For me to know and you not to find out.” 

“Don’t you work tomorrow?” 

“My shift isn’t til twelve and Emmie already gave me the lecture, snakey-poo.” Remy stuck a tongue out at him. “Now gimme.” 

Dorian held the glass away and downed the remaining contents. “Nope.” 

“Hey!” 

“Boys, boys, please, you’re both pretty.” Emile called from the kitchen. 

“I’m prettier!” Remy called back cheerfully. 

“You wish.” Dorian set the glass down and looked over at Thomas. “And I reiterate: what are you doing here?” 

Thomas shrugged with a slight smile. “Well, we all had tonight free and we knew it was your first day at the precinct, so we decided to drop by and celebrate.” 

“Uninvited? How’d you even get in? I didn’t give any of you keys for a reason.” 

“Remy picked the lock,” Thomas said. “And, yeah, we wanted it to be a surprise, but we got the times a bit wrong. Emile’s working on supper to make up for it, though.” 

“What if I already ate?” Dorian asked. 

“Then, you’ll have very nice leftovers, 'cos you know whatever Em's making will be way better than takeout or your own cooking.” 

Dorian huffed. “You better not stay all night this time.” 

Remy lazily raised a fist into the air. “Slumber party!” 

“No! No, no, no!” Dorian snapped. “That is exactly what I just said is _not_ happening!” 

“Did ya hear that, Emmie?” Remy called out with a smirk. “Baby bro wants us to sleep over!” 

_“No, I do not!”_ Dorian barked. “You can stay for dinner and that’s _it!_ I was planning to have a quiet night in, without any of you.” 

“Sucks to be you!” 

Emile poked his head out of the kitchen and shot Dorian a sympathetic smile. “I’ll have him out by ten, don’t worry.” 

“Thank you, family braincell,” Dorian sighed, sitting down, at last. “I swear... you three are going to drive me crazy by the time I’m Thomas’ age.” 

Thomas chuckled a little and slid closer to him. “So... meet anyone fun at work today?” 

“No one at work is fun,” Dorian said shortly. “Half of them are nosy and the other half are too busy goofing off to bother doing their jobs.” 

“Well, it’s only the first day,” Thomas said. “Maybe it’ll get better with time.” 

“Doubt it.” Dorian said. “Only one of them seemed even halfway competent, and he’s the kind of guy who wears sunglasses inside, which, as we all know, is the mark of an asshole.” 

“Hey,” Remy laughed. “I resemble that remark!” 

“I know, bitch, that’s why I said it.” Dorian quipped. 

“Hey,” Thomas said sternly. “Don’t make me break out the puppets.” 

Dorian and Remy shivered in unison. 

“Ignoring _that_ ,” Dorian said. “I overhead Mr. Sunglasses calling ‘dibs’ on me, earlier, too, so he probably is an asshole.” 

Remy laughed like that was the funniest thing he’d heard all day. “Do you think he’s gonna ask you out?” 

Dorian wrinkled his nose. “Probably.” 

Remy opened his mouth, likely to make some teasing remark that would annoy Dorian for the rest of the evening- but was thankfully interrupted by Emile’s sunny face popping back into view. 

“Alrighty!” He chirped. “I made some hoisin shrimp and jasmine rice, with the little sesame seeds you can sprinkle on top. Everyone, come dig in!” 

They all stood and filed into Dorian’s kitchen to do just that. And, standing there, watching Remy try and negotiate his way into Emile making dessert, too, while Thomas looked on in half-amusement and half- worry, well... Dorian figured that maybe them coming over wasn’t actually the worst thing in the world. 

They still weren’t spending the night there, though. 


	3. Chapter Two

“I’m  _ bored _ ,” Remy whined, kicking his feet and dragging his hand down his face. “I’ve got nothing to  _ do _ .”

Thomas didn’t look up from his laptop. “Remy, you’re 28. You don’t need me to babysit you, you can do whatever you want. Why are you even in my apartment? You have your own place, you know.”

“Boo, you’re boring.”

“I’m  _ working _ . Why aren’t you?”

Remy rolled his eyes. “It’s my day off,  Thomathy , you should know that.”

Thomas rolled his eyes. “I’m busy, Remy, go kill someone, or something. You know that always cheers you up.”

“Hmm...” Remy sat up, jumping off the couch and strolling over to Thomas, leaning against his shoulders and looking over at the screen. “What’cha workin’ on?”

“I’m helping Uncle Hart with something.”

“ Bor- _ ing _ _.  _ Gurl , why don’t you ever do anything fun?”

Thomas gave him a dry look. “We have very different definitions of fun, I guess.”

“Yeah, ‘cos you’re lame as shit,” Remy said, and then he sighed dramatically. “I guess I  gotta go do something by  _ myself,  _ then.”

“Good,” Thomas said, turning back to his work. “If you’re going to go kill someone, clean up after yourself. And could you get someone off our list? There’s a guy we need taken out by Sunday. I was  gonna send Dorian after him, but if you can get it done today, that would be great.”

“Sure. What’s his name?”

Thomas typed on his laptop for a few more moments. “Samuel Greene. He’s assaulted a bunch of women over the last few years, lots of charges but nothing stuck and he got through college on a full ride. We don’t need anything for the market, so do what you like with him. Here’s his address, and where he works.”

He turned his screen, shifting slightly so Remy could lean forward and read it, mouthing the words as he did so.  His eyes scanned the small photo by the text,  committing it to memory.  Then, Remy fished his phone out of his pocket, and snapped a picture of the screen. 

“Secretary after a full ride? The economy  _ is  _ in shambles,” He said. “I’ll check the warehouse he works at first.”

Remy stuffed his phone back into his pocket, turning around to exit the apartment. 

“Make sure to clean up after yourself,” Thomas called out after him. “And call me if you need any help, okay?”

“Quit your fussing, I know what I’m doing,” Remy waved it off. 

“Be careful.”

“I’m  _ always _ careful .”

Remy whistled as he left the apartment, giving a friendly wave to one of Thomas’s neighbours, as if he wasn’t off to commit an atrocious crime that would horrify the masses. 

The drive to the warehouse wasn’t long, and he parked a few streets away, in a mostly- empty area devoid of cameras. He quickly took off his signature jacket, switching to a hoodie and pulling the hood up. Remy also grabbed a pair of thick black gloves, making sure his black and white mask was still stuffed in his pocket, before climbing out of his car, locking it, and beginning his walk down the street.

Remy kept his head ducked, keeping any passers-by from recognising him. The attention from twelve years ago may have died down comparatively, but never completely. There were still numerous fanatics out there – there probably always would be.

It didn’t take too long for Remy to reach the warehouse – he immediately snuck around the back, checking for no cameras, and putting on his mask. There were numerous knives and a small gun hidden on his person: maybe that made him a little underprepared, but Remy could handle it.

He then carefully picked the lock of a small, hidden door, silently stepping inside and shutting it behind him with a quiet click.

Remy spent some time sneaking through the building, avoiding cameras as best he could – though his mask and hoodie hid his identity well enough – and keeping just out of sight of any oblivious passers-by. He was just about to give up, to assume that his target was elsewhere and that this search was futile, when Remy suddenly spotted him, alone in a side room, his back to the door. There was an open window, looking over an abandoned area behind the building. No cameras.

Remy  smiled; this would be easy. Almost too easy. Boring. But less boring than the rest of the day had been.

He glanced around, double-checking that there wasn’t anyone else nearby, before stepping inside and pushing the door shut with his foot. The man spun around in his chair at the noise, but before he could cry out, Remy’s hand was over his mouth, the other on the victim’s throat, squeezing slightly, threatening to choke him to death if he struggled.

“You know, usually I like to tell my victims exactly why I’m killing them,” Remy said conversationally, keeping his volume just low enough to not be heard outside the room – not that there was anyone around to hear. “But I’m bored, so I’m just gonna skip to the fun part.”

The man’s eyes were wide, terrified, but he wasn’t struggling or trying to scream – just frozen in place – which was a good sign. Remy glanced leisurely around the room, humming as he thought over his options.

He could just use his knives: slit his throat, make it quick. But that would be too simple, he did that too often, it would be boring – almost a calling card, even. 

He snickered at the idea of leaving his card, eyes scanning his surroundings, before they suddenly landed on a packet of cigarettes and a lighter that lay on the desk beside them. Remy almost overlooked them, but then... an idea struck him. He grinned.

“Oh, I’m  gonna have  _ real  _ _ fun _ with you.”

This did not reassure the man, in fact it just scared him more. Which, in turn, just delighted Remy even more.

Remy pulled back, and the victim opened his mouth to scream, but he didn’t get the chance to before Remy pulled out his gun, hitting him over the head with it, knocking him out. He fell to the ground with a thump – unconscious – and Remy quickly put his gun back away. He wouldn’t need it, and, besides, it would be too loud.

“Alrighty, then,” He said to himself, placing his hands on his hips. “Where to start...?”

There were multiple stacks of papers on the desk, and numerous folders, binders and books on the shelves. So very boring (Remy would never understand the people content with desk jobs filled with paperwork and, like, taxes and stuff, ugh) and yet so very flammable.

It had been a while since Remy last committed arson. This would be fun.

***

Dorian tapped his finger impatiently against the desk, his eyes scanning the computer screen. It was just paperwork – mind-numbingly boring paperwork – though that was understandable. He was the new guy, after all. Getting the grunt work was just how it fell on the food chain, but that didn’t mean he had to  _ enjoy  _ it.

“Hey, Dorian, do you wanna grab lunch with me?”

Dorian glanced up , his eyes immediately landing on Nate, who was standing beside his desk.

The other cop had been not-so- subtly flirting with Dorian all day (and every other day Dorian had been there so far), and Dorian had thought about flirting back – Nate could’ve been useful: on the force and very easy to manipulate – but he’d decided against it. Nate was a flirt, but too nice to have earned that.

Dorian considered the offer for a moment more, before nodding. “Sure.”

“Great,” Nate smiled. “Just  gimme a moment to wrap up and we can head out!”

“Alright.”

Nate disappeared, and as Dorian turned back to his computer, his phone went off. He pulled it out of his pocket, glancing at the screen, and immediately noticing a new message from Remy. Dorian glanced around, checking that no one could read over his shoulder, and tilting his phone just to make sure. He opened the message, and then suppressed the urge to groan in annoyance.

It was a picture of Remy, with his tongue stuck out and making a peace sign, in front of a burning building – a fire that he’d likely caused. That was if the following message ‘look what I just did?’ was any indication. 

Dorian scowled, immediately deleting the picture and beginning to type aggressively.

** DORIAN: **

_ Wtf _

_ Youre _ _ such a fucking idiot. Delete that.  _

** REMY: **

_ B( _

_ rude _

_ ur grumpy today _

_ maybe u need to get some _

_ ask that  _ _ coworker _ _ who keeps flirting with u _

** DORIAN: **

_ Die _

** REMY: **

_im_ _gonna_ _tell em you said that and hes_ _gonna_ _ground you_

** DORIAN:  **

_ Im _ _ 25 _

** REMY: **

_ rlly? weird _

_ you  _ _ havent _ _ grown since u were 12 _

** DORIAN:  **

_ Die twice _

_ And YOU look like  _ _ youre _ _ in your late 30s _

** REMY: **

_ bitch _

** DORIAN: **

_ Just delete the fucking picture Remy _

_ And next time use our work phones if you need to talk about this shit _

** REMY: **

_ fiiiiiiiiiiiine _

_just so u_ _kno_ _i_ _was gonna take a pic with the body but he was too ugly_

_ didnt _ _ deserve to be in a pic with my  _ _ gorgeos _ _ self _

** DORIAN: **

_ *gorgeous _

** REMY: **

_ wow u  _ _ rlly _ _ do need to get laid huh _

Dorian chose not to dignify that with a response, instead pocketing the phone with a scowl. That was when Nate reappeared, immediately noticing Dorian’s sour expression. He gave him a confused, concerned look. 

“Everything okay?”

“My brother’s being an idiot.”

“Ah, makes sense. Which one?”

Dorian didn’t like the fact that Nate knew that he had brothers without him having ever told him, but he knew why. Everyone knew too much about Dorian and his family – petty things, mostly: like his name and number of siblings, all their names, and all their childhood trauma. But that was already too much. Any secrets he still had were to be kept even closer to his chest, where the uncomfortable lack of privacy couldn’t reach them. 

“Remy,” Dorian said shortly, making it clear that that was  _ all  _ Nate was welcome to know.

Nate nodded, moving on without protest. “So, there’s a sandwich place just a block away, do you wa-”

He was suddenly interrupted by noise from Joan and  Talyn’s desks, closing his mouth with the click of his teeth. Both Nate and Dorian then turned to see what was going on.

“There was a fire,” Joan explained quickly. “Captain wants us to check it out. It’s suspected arson, and someone claims to have spotted a member of the Royal Flush at the scene.”

Dorian tried his best to keep his expression neutral at the name – to not scowl distastefully – but, apparently, he hadn’t been successful, as Nate immediately noticed, glancing back at him questioningly.

“Not a fan of the copycats?”

“I don’t see why the media feels the need to name them, is all,” Dorian said smoothly.

“Don’t they name themselves?”  Talyn cut in. “Isn’t that the point of the whole ‘copycats’ thing?”

“Right.”

Usually that was the case, but not with Dorian. He’d spent far too long convincing his brothers that they didn’t need a theme, that that would’ve been suspicious, all for nothing. Their flair for the dramatic meant they kept the complex masks and the theatrics, but he’d pushed to avoid the costumes and insignias and aliases for a  _ reason _ .

And then, someone had found a pack of playing cards at a scene, spotting their masks when they’d fled, and the media had scrambled to come up with a name for them. Naturally, Remy had been thrilled, and had persuaded his brothers to alter their masks to fit the theme, completely demolishing all Dorian’s arguments as the others made plans, overriding his concerns to be dramatic.

Fortunately, they blended in with the dozens of other Royal Court copycats in existence – and the fact that they’d convinced everyone that there were five of them, not four, had certainly helped cover their tracks. 

“Oh, shit,” Joan swore, straightening up as if they were only just now realising something. “Sorry, dude, I didn’t think. Do the copycats bug you?”

Dorian shrugged, crossing his arms. “I don’t care.”

Unfortunately, the tone of his voice gave away that he did, in fact, care, though the others likely didn’t realise the reason. The copycats were only doing this for attention – they didn’t understand  _ why  _ the Sanders family had started doing this in the first place. Dorian would have loved to hunt down and kill every single one of them if he thought he could get away with it.

Nobody looked like they believed him, but fortunately, they didn’t press.

Nate turned back to  Talyn and Joan. “Shouldn’t the two of you get going?” He asked helpfully. “You know... the fire?”

“Oh, right.” 

They excused themselves and Nate cheerfully asked them to tell him how it went. The two watched them leave, the air tinged with lingering awkwardness. 

Dorian rose to his feet. “I believe it’s time for lunch. Detective Cockayne?”

“Already on the move, Detective Sanders,” Nate gave him an easy smile. “You  wanna drive?”

“Yes,” Dorian smiled despite himself. “ Yes, I do.”


	4. Chapter Three

“Duh. Le- Dah duh duh duh dah duh dah duh duh! Dee de dah dat de dah te de dah! Le de-ta-te-da-te te dahhh! La te da te de ta de DAHHH! Tsh! La de ta de le ta te de DA! Le da te le da te le DAH DE DAH DE DAHHHH! DE DA TE LE TE TA LE DA TILLY DA! TE DA TE LA TAH TE LE DA TE LE-” Emile paused to pant. “DE TA TE LE DAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

The two new patients stared at him in shock. Emile beamed, still a little short of breath, and bounced over to his seat. 

“New patients! Do you how do?” He asked cheerfully. 

“Uhh, we’re... good?” The lady on the right said. 

“If we were good, we wouldn’t be here,” The one on the left groused. 

“ Awww , character traits shining through already!” Emile said cheerfully. “Well, my name is Dr Sanders and I-”

“Sanders?” The woman on the left interrupted. “Like the serial killers? I knew you looked  familiar, I just couldn’t put my finger on it.”

Emile’s smile faltered. “Well... yes, but-”

“Oh my- Beth, I’m not just  gonna sit here and let a psycho killer give us relationship advice!”

“Marcy, please, just-” 

“Ma’am?” Emile spoke up, a little awkwardly. “With all due respect, I am a certified and licensed therapist. I’ve had many psych evals myself to get to this point and if I were – as you put it – a psycho killer, I wouldn’t be here today. My brothers and I weren’t ever even convicted of anything. Just allow me one session, and if you find me unhelpful, then by all means storm out and give me a bad yelp review.”

Marcy hesitated for a moment. Then, she sat back on the couch heavily. 

“Fine.”

“Thank you,” Beth squeezed her arms around Marcy tight.

“Thank you,” Emile echoed, before taking a deep breath. “Alright! With that settled, let’s roll out,  Autobots !” 

***

The session ended relatively happily. Beth and Marcy were able to work out their issues well enough, and while they didn’t feel the need for another session, Marcy apologized and admitted that he was a pretty good therapist and hardly any kind of psycho. 

As soon as they were out the door, Emile leaned back in his chair, letting out a heavy sigh. 

Why did it have to be so hard to establish his credibility? He got it, on one hand. It was kind of earned, and stuff. But on the other... he just wanted to help. Why did his family name have to be so well known and so muddied – muddying him in the process! Emile didn’t like to be negative, but it  _ sucked _ ! Marcy was hardly an outlier for new patients: not the first and likely far from the last. 

He sighed again and rubbed at his neck, plastering his smile back on. 

His phone then suddenly chimed out a few bars of Full Disclosure and he scooped it up quickly. 

He mashed the answer button. “Yellow?” 

_ “I’m going to kill your twin.” _ Dorian’s voice filtered through the speaker. 

Emile hummed. “That’s unfortunate. What’s he done this time?”

_ “Aside from general idiocy?”  _ Dorian growled.  _ “He sent me a selfie that deserves to be torched. It featured a burning building, one that he’d set fire to himself. And he seems to think that being taken to bed will solve all my issues.”  _

“Well, to be fair, he also thinks it’ll solve all his,” Emile said.

He shifted the phone to rest between his shoulder and ear and began sorting the Bercy file in order to put in his handy dandy filing cabinet. 

_ “I hate him,” _ Dorian informed Emile. 

“Aw, no you don’t,” Emile chuckled. “You two just have a little... creative differences, is all.”

_ “ _ _ Em _ _ , he’s the human equivalent of a stray cat – o _ _ nly _ _ worse because a stray cat doesn’t fill your bed with eggshells. That’s a bit more than ‘creative differences.’”  _

“Oh, that only happened once,” Emile said. 

_ “Once was enough.”  _

Emile sighed. “Well, he never did it again.”

_ “I don’t forget and I’m slow to forgive,” _ Dorian quipped.  _ “Anyway. Just keep an eye open for him, tonight. He’s already cycled through Thomas’ place and mine so yours is probably next on the list.”  _

“Noted,” Emile said, slipping the file into the B section. “I’ll lock my liquor up, too. Just to be safe.”

_ “Like that’ll help,” _ Dorian groused. 

“Well, it’ll slow him down, at least,” Emile said. “So, what are your dinner plans?”

_ “Same shit as always,”  _ Dorian said.  _ “I was  _ _ gonna _ _ grab some food on my way home. Probably Chinese. Probably Panda Express. You?” _

“Something that’s actually nutritional,” Emile teased. “Meatloaf, maybe... though I’m pretty tired, so maybe I’ll just fry up some eggs.”

_ “Hard patients?” _

Emile shrugged, even though Dorian couldn’t see him. “Just the usual question after hearing my last name.”

_ “ _ _ Ew _ _. Maybe you should get a new one, then.”  _

Emile chuckled. “Maybe, someday...” He trailed off. “So, how was work for you? Catch any big, awful bad guys?”

_ “Hardly. Today was just paperwork,” _ Dorian explained.  _ “Although... I did overhear that the Royal Flush has been mostly in our precinct. So, it’ll be fun to watch that unfold.”  _

Emile frowned. “I think we have different definitions of fun...”

_ “Maybe so. If nothing else, it’ll be something to watch.” _

Something to keep an eye on...

Emile took a deep breath. “I guess. Take care of yourself out there, okay? I don’t want my little brother getting shot.” 

_ “Okay, Mom,” _ Dorian drawled sarcastically.  _ “I’ll be sure to wear  _ two _ bullet proof vests in the field.”  _

“If they make bullet proof sweaters, you should get one of those, too. It gets cold,” Emile smiled teasingly into the receiver. “Alrighty, lefty loosey. I  gotta go, my next appointment is coming up.” 

_ “I’m almost home anyway. Just tell Remy I’m coming for his head, will you?”  _

“Sure thing. Thanks for hanging out and watching cartoons with us! We’ll see you right back here  tomorrow , on Cartoon Network. Good night!” Emile recited. 

Dorian snorted on the other end.  _ “Night,  _ _ Em _ _. Take care.” _

He hung up and Emile took another deep breath. Flexibility, love, and trust. Flexibility, love, and trust. Okay. Next patient.

He looked over his list. 

Oh, good! A returning patient. He didn’t have to knock the breath out of himself again. 

***

Dorian woke the next day to a picture of Remy passed out on Emile’s sofa. He snickered at it, saved it, and added it to his ‘Blackmail: Remy’ folder. Material for that was always a good way to start his mornings. 

He rose with a stretch and started getting ready for his day. A cup of coffee while he  glanced over social media and the news, getting dressed in what the Captain had deemed appropriate work attire, grabbing his keys and heading out the door.

He liked his routine. It was simple. Calming. Just himself taking care of himself. But once he walked out that door, the calm of singularity melted away into phase two of the routine. 

Their fathers’ final instructions had been to take care of one another, and that was an instruction all four brothers took to heart in their own ways. Dorian may take pride in his independence, but he was by no means heartless – which led to the routine of calling Thomas in the mornings while he dropped by Remy’s work, and calling Emile in the evenings. Routine. Calming. Even if it did involve his not-so-calming family.

Dorian took a deep breath as he dialed Thomas’ number, already ready to lecture him if he’d been up  all night editing. 

It rang twice before he picked up, giving Dorian enough time to get into his car, buckle up, and mount his phone (now on speaker). 

_ “Hello?” _ Thomas said, sounding groggy.

“Were you asleep?” Dorian asked, pulling out and starting on his route. 

Thomas hummed affirmatively.  _ “Was just beginning to wake up, though, so it’s all good.” _

“Good. I do worry.”

Thomas snorted at that. _ “Not as much as I do.” _

“Rest assured,” Dorian cracked a small smile. “I’ve been getting the recommended amount of sleep. Or as much as I can, considering.” 

_ “Yeah, I get that. Just make sure you take care of yourself, okay?” _

“Always,” Dorian said. “Anyway, what do your plans for the day look like?”

_ “Editing, editing, helping Uncle Hart, calling the baby twins, and more editing,” _ Thomas laughed.  _ “I have a full schedule, I guess. You?” _

“I assume more  busywork, but I won’t know for sure until I get to the bullpen,” Dorian explained. “I think they’re reluctant to give me any cases due to the whole serial killer thing.”

_ “Itty bitty DeeDee, so scary!”  _ Thomas teased.

“Har  har ,” Dorian rolled his eyes. “But yes, that seems to be the line of thinking. Which I understand to a degree, but I’m not even the most terrifying co-worker!”

Thomas snickered on the other end.  _ “Guess they’ve never seen you hangry.” _

“I’m hanging up now.”

_ “ _ _ Noooooo _ _! No, wait, I’ll be nice!” _

“Maybe so, but I’m almost there anyway,” Dorian said. “Tell the baby twins not to cause trouble.”

_ “Who, Missy and Peter? Oh, like they’d  _ ever  _ cause trouble!” _

“Yeah, yeah,” Dorian snorted. “Just tell Missy that if she ever replaces my shampoo with dye again, I’ll be replacing theirs with bleach.”

_ “Tiny scary cop man,” _ Thomas teased.  _ “Alright, I’ll tell ‘ _ _ em _ _. Have a good day,  _ _ Dor _ _! Love you!” _

“Love you too. Bye.”

He hung up, pulling into the Starbucks drive-through and taking a deep breath. He waited through the greeting and patiently told the young woman on the other side his name, pulling through to the window at her word. 

Remy leaned out of the window with a bright smile. “Heyyyy, if it isn’t my favorite bitch!” 

“You see me every morning, Remy,” Dorian deadpanned.

“I can still pretend I’m excited to see you,” Remy pouted. 

Dorian waved a hand, dismissing the comment. “What do you have for me today?”

Remy leaned back and pulled out a to-go cup. “I grabbed everything hazelnut and threw it in a cup of steamed milk with a shot of expresso. I call it ‘Hazel Heart Attack!’” 

Dorian accepted the cup and passed Remy his debit card. “Sounds atrocious.”

“But one hundred percent guaranteed that no one will steal it!” Remy said, swiping his card and punching a bunch of buttons, probably overcharging him. “Which is what you’re looking for, right?” 

“As the youngest of four? Always,” Dorian took his card back. “Make sure you call Thomas later. He worries.”

Remy waved a hand dismissively. “Ah, let him. I’ve got plans tonight anyhow.” 

“Can’t say I didn’t try,” Dorian shrugs. “See you tomorrow, bitch.”

“See  ya !” 

He drove off, his morning routine drawing to a close as he finally headed off to work. Simple. Calming.  Collected . And wholly peaceful.

Dorian loved mornings.

***

He decidedly did not like afternoons. The Hazel Heart Attack hadn’t been nearly as bad as Remy made it sound, but the last dregs of it tasted like ashes, specifically cardboard ashes. When he texted that to his brother, though, all he got in response was a cheeky wink emote. Idiot. Rude, mean, idiot elder brother. 

Dorian wasn’t one to let a small thing ruin an entire day.  But he was one to let it make him very grumpy, and it showed on his face. It wasn’t long before Nate rolled up to his side, still in his desk chair. 

“You look like you could use a pick-me-up,” He said. 

Dorian rolled his eyes. “What was your first clue?”

“The furrowed brows, the huffing, and the fact that it sounds like you’re trying to stab your keyboard with your fingers,” Nate replied. 

Dorian looked down at his hands. Slowly, he lessened the pressure on his poor keyboard. It didn’t deserve this abuse. 

“So, what do you suggest I do about it?” Dorian asked him.

Nate brightened considerably, smiling wide. “Simple! You come to dinner with me Friday night. I’ll turn that frown right upside down.”

Dorian snorted and looked at him incredulously. “Are you... asking me out?”

“Maybe,” Nate said, not faltering. “...Yeah, yes. I am.”

Dorian laughed a little, more astonished than anything. “You don’t even know me. I’ve worked here for, what? Six weeks?”

Nate shrugged, seemingly unphased. “It’s worth a shot. You’re too  gorgeous for me not to shoot my shot. Although,” He leaned on Dorian’s desk, giving him a charming smile that would make the hearts of lesser men flutter. “If your only protest is that I hardly know you then I guess I’ve got some learning to do.”

Dorian fought down a smile and twisted it into a sardonic smirk. “It’s very bold of you to assume I’ll let you get close enough for that. I hardly let anyone get that close.”

“That sounds so lonely,” Nate said. “Now I have to get to know you. If only to give you one more ally against this big cold world.”

“I can handle myself.”

“Never said you couldn’t, but having someone to watch your back is the difference between life and death. And I would gladly be the one to watch that backside of yours."

Dorian snorted. “You won’t get far with lines like that, I’m afraid.”

“Then, I’ll find the right ones,” Nate smiled, tilting his sunglasses down a little so Dorian could see his large, dark eyes as he winked. “I’m a patient man.”

“Which shall win?” Dorian mused. “The patient man or the cobra?”

“You fancy yourself a cobra, then?”

Dorian shrugged. “My wit is made of venom and I’m more flexible than the average man.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Nate pushed his sunglasses back up. “I fancy myself more of a  sloth, but I’ll become a mongoose for you.”

Dorian started to reply when the Captain shouted both their names. He felt the sides of his mouth twist down as the two of them rose to stand at attention. He’d  _ just  _ been starting to enjoy himself! 

“Detectives, I’m assigning you a new case,” He said, holding up a folder. “Seeing as Detective Sanders has a unique insight on this, I think it only fitting that the two of you be assigned to the Court Jesters case.”

Dorian blinked. Once. Twice. He suppressed the urge to groan and wondered if there had been some kind of hallucinogen in that coffee after all, he’d hardly put it past Remy. The Court Jesters had been a thorn in Dorian’s side for months now. He could appreciate their aesthetic and dramatics, but he’d slit their throats if he ever met them in person. 

“Are you sure, sir?” He heard Nate ask. 

“Positive.” Captain said. “They’re one of the biggest of the copycat groups and they require someone with insight as to how groups like this work. And you seem to work well with him, Cockayne. So, I’m assigning it. Unless you can give me some reason as to why I shouldn’t?”

Dorian shook his head. “No, sir.”

“Good,” He handed the folder to Dorian. “Then you had better get started.”


	5. Chapter Four

Dorian didn’t jump when Nate suddenly dropped a stack of folders on his desk, but it was close. He leant forward, poking the papers with his pen and wrinkling his nose as this looked like just a pile of boring paperwork.

“What’s all this?”

Nate placed his hands on his hips. “This is all the information we have on the Court Jesters.”

Dorian wrinkled his nose. “They get around,” He said, scowling. “And, let me guess, we’ve gotta sort through all this shit.”

Nate sat down at his desk, just opposite Dorian. “Yup.”

“Ugh, this is  gonna be a long afternoon.”

“Ah, it’s not so bad.” Nate gave Dorian a cheerful smile. “Gives me an excuse to spend more time with you. We can... get to know each other.”

“Right.”

“What, you’re not excited to spend the afternoon with me?” Nate teased.

“I’m thrilled,” Dorian said dryly.

Dorian wasn’t quite  _ thrilled _ , of course, but he wasn’t actually too disappointed, either. Nate was nice, despite his obvious crush and open flirtations towards Dorian. He hadn’t asked him out again since his recent first attempt, though Dorian suspected Nate was just waiting until he knew him better.

(Though, who could blame him, honestly. Dorian knew he was hot, and there was a certain ‘bad boy’ charm to him, though the term didn’t usually apply to serial killers.)

Nate was a good detective – working with him wouldn’t be too arduous a task. Perhaps it could even be fun.

Dorian stood up, picking up half of the files and dumping them onto Nate’s deck, before smoothing out the wrinkles in his shirt and sitting down again. He picked up the top folder on his half of the pile and opened it, raising his eyebrows when his eyes scanned the first few lines. He whistled lowly, and Nate glanced back up at him.

“What is it?”

“One of their first victims,” Dorian said. “He choked to death on a bunch of bells.”

“Bells?” Nate asked incredulously.

“ Mhm ,” Dorian nodded. “They stuffed them down his throat.”

“ Ew , gross.”

Dorian hummed, flipping through the folder. “They certainly have the dramatics down: costumes and all. Not the most  _ interesting  _ deaths I’ve ever heard of, though,” He mumbled. “Too predictable.”

Nate’s brow creased with thought. “Are you sure you’re okay with working this case?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Well, you know...”

“I’m fine,” Dorian snapped, crossing his arms.

Nate lifted his hands defensively. “Alright, sorry. Just asking.” He flipped a page of the folder in front of him. “So,” He added, moving on. “Predictable?”

Dorian nodded. “Yup. Predictable. They have a pattern, similar targets every time, and stick to the same area. They kill regularly. The only real variation is in  _ how  _ they kill people. It looks like they get quite creative with it.”

“Creative,” Nate snorted. “That’s one word for it.”

“They’ve been around for almost five months,” Dorian continued, slowly uncrossing his arms.

Nate whistled. “Damn, and they still haven’t been caught yet? This’ll be a difficult case. No one else has been able to crack it, yet.”

“We’ll manage. It won’t be too difficult.”

“Wow, didn’t think you were an optimist,” Nate joked.

Dorian gave him a dry look. “I’m not an optimist. These guys just seem like idiots, we’ll catch them.”

“Well, who am I to argue with that?” Nate smiled.

Dorian rolled his eyes, turning back to his file.

They worked in mostly silence for the next hour – Nate chiming in with the occasional remark or half-flirtatious quip, and Dorian occasionally commenting on the intelligence of the criminals they were chasing – working through the files and making notes on the most relevant parts.

“So,” Dorian said, once he closed the final folder in front of him. “We have a lot of suspects.”

Nate glancing up from the paper he was rereading. “Yup. Do any stand out to you?”

“I have a few,” Dorian said. “Megan Bright, Nathaniel Bowen,  Dayd Foster and David Smith to name a couple. But I made a whole list.”

He tossed his notepad over to Nate, who caught it immediately and flipped through the relevant pages. Once he finished scanning the long list of names, he whistled, tossing the notepad back to Dorian.

“That’s a  _ lot  _ of suspects. We have a lot of work to do.”

Suddenly, Dorian’s phone started ringing, and he dropped his notebook onto his desk, fishing his phone out of his pocket and glancing at the screen. Thomas was calling him.

“I’ll be right back,” Dorian said, without waiting for an answer from Nate, standing up and heading over to the break room as he answered the phone.

_ “Hey, you left your laptop at my place, so I’m stopping by the station to drop it off,”  _ Thomas said.

Dorian stopped inside the break room, grateful that there was no one else inside it.

“Right,” Dorian said. “How long will you be?”

_ “A few minutes, I’m almost there.” _

“Fantastic,” Dorian said dryly. “Did Remy mess with my laptop again? ‘Cos, I swear, if he did, I’m  gonna kill him. I’ll rip off his ears and shove them so far down his throat he’ll be able to hear his own heartbeat.”

Thomas whistled. _ “That’s quite the threat.” _

Dorian rolled his eyes, leaning against the wall. “Did he touch my computer or not?”

_ “He did not.” _

“You sure?”

_ “It’s  _ Remy _ ,”  _ Thomas said.  _ “We can’t be sure of anything. He could’ve screwed with my laptop, too.” _

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever.”

_ “Hey, maybe I could meet that, uh, friend of yours. Nate.” _

Dorian could hear the teasing grin in Thomas’s voice – he already regretted telling his brothers about Nate – and immediately scowled.

“No.”

_ “Aww, why not?” _

“You’ll embarrass me.”

_ “Would I do that?” _

“When you get here, wait outside the building,” Dorian said, changing the topic swiftly. “Don’t come inside. I’ll come to you.”

Thomas laughed.  _ “Okay, okay. I’ll be there in just a minute.” _

***

Thomas pulled into the parking lot of the police station, singing along to the Disney music that was blasting from his speakers and drumming his fingers against the steering wheel as he parked and switched it off. He picked up the bag on the seat, putting the strap over his shoulder, and got out of his car, whistling along as he did so – finishing the song that had ended halfway through.

He pushed the car door shut, pulling out his phone.

** Thomas **

_ Im _ _ here! _

** Dorian **

_ Wait outside _

** Thomas **

_ Okay! _

Thomas pocketed his phone, leaning back against his car, his hand on the strap of his bag, resuming his cheerful whistling.

“Hey, you’re Dorian’s brother!”

Thomas turned his head, watching as two detectives jogged up to him – one wearing an orange beanie, the other with colourful hair.

“Yeah, I am,” He responded. “ Uhh ... Who are you?”

“I’m  Talyn , this is Joan,” The one with purple hair said.

“We work with Dorian,” Joan added.

Thomas nodded. “Ah, right. He's told me about you two.”

“All good things, I hope.”

“Well, as good as it gets with Dorian,” Thomas joked.

Joan laughed. “Yeah, I get that. He seems pretty, uh... friendly?”

“Ha! Well, that’s my baby bro – as cheerful and amicable as ever. I hope he hasn’t been giving you too much trouble, though.”

“Nah, he’s alright. A good detective! Even if he’s not the chattiest, he works hard. I think working with him is  gonna be fun!”

“Oh, speak of the devil,”  Talyn added.

All three of their heads turned, watching as Dorian exited the building. He rolled his eyes as he spotted them talking and approached them swiftly. He stopped just in front of Thomas, placing one hand on his hip and holding the other out impatiently.

Thomas handed him the bag with a cheerful smile. 

“How’s the case going?” Joan asked.

“Fine,” Dorian answered shortly, opening the bag and checking that his laptop was still inside, undamaged.

“What’s the case?” Thomas asked.

“Oh, Dorian didn’t tell you?”

Thomas shook his head.

Dorian rolled his eyes again, shutting the bag with as much of a snap as can be achieved with a zipper. “It’s the Court Jesters case.”

Thomas bit his lip to keep himself from bursting into laughter. “Oh?”

“It’s a tough one,”  Talyn continued, oblivious. “No one’s been able to solve it yet. Though... I guess you do have a unique perspective on this, Dorian.”

“Unique,” Dorian said dryly. “That’s one way to put it.”

Thomas snorted. “Well, I hope you have fun with that,” He said. “I’ve  gotta get back to work – there's videos to edit, and all that. It was nice meeting you both.”

“Likewise.”

“You, too.”

Thomas smiled, nodding a goodbye to his brother, before he climbed back into his car, watching as the three detectives walked back into the building together. Then, he pulled out of the parking lot, whistling as he switched his Disney music back on, and drumming his fingers against the steering wheel.

***

It didn’t take long for him to arrive at his apartment building, and he parked just outside, getting out and locking his car. He immediately spotted one of his neighbours – an elderly woman who’d become rather fond of him – and nodded as she passed, but while his eyes were on her, he wasn’t looking where he was going, and accidentally walked into another man, almost knocking him right to the ground.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry,” Thomas apologised quickly. “I wasn’t looking where I was going. Are you alright?”

The man caught his balance quickly, fixing his bright white jacket, and then turning back to Thomas with a wide, slightly familiar-looking smile that put him a little on edge, though he didn’t visibly react.

“I’m alright,” The man said. “Hey, you’re Thomas Sanders, right?”

Thomas’s apologetic smile turned a little forced. “Yes, I am. Why?”

“You’re Roman Sanders’ kid – the Royal Court and all that. You know, I used to really look up to him. I read all his books, watched every interview, even met him once or twice. I still have a few of his autographs,” He laughed. “Those things are worth a lot nowadays, aren’t they?”

“Right.”

The man seemed completely oblivious to Thomas’s growing discomfort, holding his hand out casually for him to shake.

“I’m Pryce. Pryce Kingsley.”

Thomas took his hand, shaking it quickly and then dropping it as soon as he could. 

“Right,” He said awkwardly. “Well, it was, uh... good... meeting you, Pryce.”

“Likewise,” Pryce grinned.

It suddenly dawned on Thomas why that smile had looked so familiar. It was just like Roman’s, eerily so. That couldn’t have been accidental, couldn’t have been just a coincidence. He must have deliberately tried to replicate it. A poor imitation of one of the most important people in Thomas’s life.

It had been a while since Thomas had met a Roman fan as dedicated as this one.

Thomas tried very hard not to scowl, though even if his distaste was visible, Pryce didn’t react; he just kept smiling.

“Well, uh...” Thomas cleared his throat. “I have to go. Work.”

“Right, right.” Pryce nodded, taking a step back. “Bye, then.”

“Bye.”

As Thomas began to walk away as quickly as he could, Pryce spoke up one last time, calling out to his retreating back.

“I’ll see you around!”

Thomas hoped not.


	6. Chapter Five

The Court Jesters had struck again. The victim had been strung up with ribbons – practically hog tied – and then stabbed through the chest four times. It was gruesome, grisly, and, to Dorian, familiar. 

He peered over the corpse with a frown. As much damage as had been done, it wasn't particularly elegant. The ribbons were cutting into the wrists, jaw, and ankles. The victim would have bled to death even if it weren't for the stabbing. But then, bleeding to death always gave them a chance to get found, too.

"Poor guy," Nate muttered.

Dorian looked up at him. "What makes you say that?"

Nate shrugged. "Just seems like a bad way to go."

"Well at least they gift wrapped him for us." Dorian rose to his feet and stretched with a noisy groan. "What's the victim's name?"

"Liam Issacs," Nate said. "He’s an accountant, apparently."

"Embezzled anything?" Dorian asked.

Nate shrugged. "No one's sure yet. We'll need to interview the coworkers. And... gift wrapped?"

Dorian gestured to the corpse. "Bright, colorful, there’s a couple bows... I  dunno . Looks like a gift to me."

"If this is what your gifts look like, someone needs to get you better presents." Nate snorted. 

"You  offering ?" Dorian teased lightly. 

Nate smiled that crooked, charming smile that told Dorian exactly what he was thinking. 

"Maybe," he said. "You gonna let me?"

"Not a chance," Dorian laughed. "But I'm interested to see what you think I'd like."

"Well, maybe we'll go window shopping sometime." 

"Now, I know you can do better than that, Detective, I've no need for windows."

Nate laughed, a barking, roughish sound that may have  thoroughly charmed anyone who  wasn't Dorian. 

"Well, I guess if there’s one thing I know, it's that you've got a great sense of humor!" He said as he tapered off into chuckles. "Not even standing over a dead body phases your need to tease and joke."

Dorian blinked, looking down. Truth be told, he'd all but forgotten about the dead body. He flipped his hair over his shoulder, pretending he hadn't. 

"Part of my charm," he said dryly. 

Nate  chuckle d more, but seemed to move on. "So, what's our plan of action for poor ol' Liam, here?" 

Dorian shrugged. "Like you said, interview his coworkers, find out if he was embezzling. The one thing most of these copycats have in common is that they think its justified because of the wrongs the victims committed. If we find out what he did wrong and how they found out, we might have a lead."

"Keyword being might," Nate sighed. "He could have been blasted online or some other public forum."

"Don’t break your chickens before they hatch. There's a chance," Dorian said. 

He knelt again, looking over the body for any kind of carved insignia amongst the various wounds. Unfortunately, even if there had originally been one, it looked like it had been swallowed up by the stab wounds. Amateurs. 

Dorian sighed and rose to his feet yet again. “Get this guy down to autopsy. See if they can find any markings or carvings on him. I want to know exactly how faithful to the  original these remakes are being.”

“Good call.” Nate nodded. “Does this narrow down our suspects list at all?”

Dorian frowned. “Unfortunately, it’s too early to tell. I have my  suspicions, but I don’t know how right they are yet.”

“Care to fill me in?”

Dorian smirked. “I will. Later. If you’re going to try to woo me you  have to be able to keep up, Cockayne. See if you can figure out my hunch on your own.”

Nate let out a low whistle. “You drive a hard bargain, Sanders. But I’ll take you up on that! As long as we aren’t figuring out this case separately.”

“Just my hunch,” Dorian promised. “Figure that out and I’ll be transparent the rest of the case.”

“Really?”

“Cross my heart.” 

Dorian made a slow, smooth ‘x’ over his chest, dragging out the motion and pretending he didn’t see Nate’s eyes behind the sunglasses, following his fingers as if he was watching a ballet. 

“...I’ll hold you to that,” Nate said. 

Dorian chuckled. “I’m sure. Alright, I have to get going, I’m  afraid .” 

“Aw, cutting our time together short already?” Nate pouted. 

“I have to,” Dorian sarcastically mirrored the pout. “I’m afraid it’s family game night. We’re playing poker and Remy owes me from last time.”

“Aw, rats. Win something for me!”

Dorian laughed. “Will do.”

***

‘Family game night’ was always, in a word, bloody. It was a code they’d invented back when they were still living with their uncles. It was a good blanket excuse, since it was able to get them out of a lot, could happen multiple times – irregularly, too – but not so personal that people often asked after the details of it. All of which made it the perfect cover for going out in costume and committing murder. 

Even if Dorian wasn’t a fan of the costumes...

“Remind me again ,” he said, very calmly and very slowly. “Whose idea it was to put Emile in a dress?”

“I’m not Emile!” He laughed, lowering his mask over the blonde wig. “I’m the Queen of Clubs!”

Dorian pinched the bridge of his nose. “...Right.”

“She has to be in a dress, or it doesn’t complete the look!” Remy protested, fastening his spade-shaped buttons.

Fortunately, Dorian had managed to convince his brothers that a full-length ballgown would have been unnecessary and far too impractical, but they still went as overboard as they could get away with. 

“And I’m to assume that’s why the two of you have crowns as well?” 

“Yup!” Emile plopped the tiara onto hi- her head.

The crowns weren’t quite as expensive and detailed as Remy had desired – Dorian had only just managed to convince him that that would’ve drawn more attention to themselves – but they were still elaborate and, in Dorian’s opinion, excessive

Dorian sighed heavily,  thoroughly annoyed. “Then I’d like to state once more that I do not approve of this theme.”

“ So you keep reminding us.” Thomas said teasingly. 

Thomas snapped the mask onto his face, now fully decked out in his attire as Ace of Hearts. It was a white suit, same as all of them but Emile, the difference being the suits on each of their suits and Emile’s dress. Hearts crawled up Thomas’ shoulders, spades cascaded down Remy’s back, Emile’s dress was edged in clubs at flattering angles, and diamonds ran across every angle of Dorian’s torso. Uncle Hart had tailored them perfectly, and Peter had helped him with the masks, edging them in card-themed ribbons and white pearls. They were a pain to clean, but Dorian had been informed the effect was ‘worth it.’ 

There was a fifth costume, too – the Joker – an addition that had been Dorian’s idea, who the brothers took turns playing. The public was now convinced that the Royal Flush was made up of four men and one woman, which threw them off their trail, and was the main reason that Dorian had agreed with the excessive plan.

(He would never admit aloud how much he secretly liked the theme and costumes. The drama ran in the family.)

“Put your mask on, Jack, it’s  go time!” Remy said cheerfully.

Dorian grumbled a little but lowered it. “I just don’t see how h-  _ she _ ’ll leap off rooftops in that.”

“I’ll be fine,” Emile said, smiling. “Have been before, will be again. Thank you though, Jack. The concern means a lot.” 

“My interest is our safety,” Dorian said dryly. 

Remy – the King – wrapped an arm around his neck. “Whatever you say, you big softie!”

“Stop touching me.”

They headed out not long after that, sneaking along the crowded rooftops and shimmying down drainpipes. It was a miracle their outfits weren’t dirty and grey by the time they reached the victim’s abode. 

“Name and crime?” Ace (Thomas) asked softly. 

“Oliva Friman.” King answered, snatching Queen’s waist so any possible onlookers could believe them to be in love. “She’s been taking advantage of her young students. Some of them push drugs for her, some of them... do favors of another kind. More favors equal a higher grade.”

Dorian, or rather, the ‘Jack of Diamonds’ pulled a file of her crimes and flipped through it, a mission made slightly tougher by his thick white gloves. He nodded confirmation of Oliva’s crimes and looked back up at his siblings.

“Alright then,” King said. “How do we want to play this?” 

“We could just shoot her?” Queen suggested, lilting her voice a little to be not-exactly-falsetto. 

Jack frowned. “No... too quick. Too good for her.”

“Then what’s your  suggestion ?” Ace asked.

Jack hummed, flicking through the file again. “Well... based on the reports, she’s very opinionated. If we go in there and start telling her what she’s done wrong, she’s more likely to argue than to fight back, likely with a personal insult towards one of us. Once she does that, the King should act enraged and attack. She’ll be expecting you to be overly emotional, but even without that extra edge you should be able to overpower her. And then just... well to be blunt: just go ham.”

King nodded. “Got it.”

And so they did. They swung through her window, quiet as a summer breeze, Queen’s skirts barely even rustling. Oliva looked up at them in alarm, not even stopping the show she’d been watching.

“Who are you?” She demanded.

“The better question,” Ace asked, straightening up and pitching his voice to a deeper bass that commanded attention. “Oliva Friman. We know of your crimes. What you’ve been doing to your students. And we think it’s rather... terrible. When taken all together.”

Oliva’s eyebrows pinched together. “And just what is it that you think you know?”

“Pedophilia, larceny. Conning children into becoming your network of drug dealers and using it as blackmail later,” Jack tutted. “Really, miss, it’s unbecoming of anyone to abuse the children under their care. But this? This is just disgraceful.”

She spluttered. “I- I didn’t-”

“It’s no use protesting,” Queen said  airily , draping her arms around King’s shoulders. “We know all about you that there can be to know from afar. And there is nothing to justify these crimes. They were children. Children under your care.”

Oliva sneered. “And what would you know of children, you two-bit hussy?”

Without another word, King snarled and drew his sword. A recreation of their Papa’s sword. And he lunged. 

It was over quick. Oliva was defenseless and inexperienced though she tried to fight back. King, however, had seventeen years of experience on his side. 

When the deed was done – the victim sufficiently murdered – King threw a playing card, a custom king of spades, onto the body. Jack, for his part, set the file of evidence on a nearby table. 

That was the rhythm. That was the way it worked. The way it had worked since they’d become adults and moved to Brooklyn. It made sense. It was easy. Just them. Just four brothers working in harmony to rid the world of greater evils, following in their fathers’ footsteps. It was the way he felt his life was supposed to be. Supposed to work.

And Dorian wasn’t keen on changing it anytime soon...


	7. Chapter Six

Paperwork was boring, and Dorian was bored.

He was itching to kill (again), and he was itching to kill the Court Jesters, too, as they had been getting on his last nerves. Perhaps that would’ve been reckless, right now – considering Nate’s involvement in the case and his newfound friendship (ugh) with Dorian, perhaps it would lead him right to them. Unlike his brothers, Dorian still had his braincells, so he wasn’t willing to risk that.

And yet, he was still desperate to strangle (or stab or slash or burn, he wasn’t picky) the Court Jesters, partly due to their mangling of his fathers’ legacies, but also partly due to the seemingly unending and incredibly boring paperwork that they caused.

Dorian almost had sympathy for the cops on the Royal Flush case, as he and his brothers were likely creating a ton of work for them, too. Almost. And certainly not enough sympathy to stop.

Dorian’s hand ached, but he was far too stubborn to stop before he was done yet.

He was so engrossed in his paperwork – and in his murderous thoughts – that he didn’t notice when Nate returned and sat down opposite him, until the other cop leant forward and spoke.

“Hey, I’m back,” he greeted.

“I didn’t even notice you were gone,” Dorian said dryly, glancing up from his paperwork for  a moment , before returning to it.

“You’ve been doing paperwork for a while,” Nate continued, unaffected. “ You need a break. We could go out for lunch together, if you like.”

Dorian paused. “...Are you asking me out again?”

“Maybe... are you going to say yes?”

Dorian gave him a dry look, and Nate shrugged, sitting back in his chair. Apparently, nothing could ever put a damper on his ever cheerful and laid-back mood.

“Ah, well, I tried.”

Dorian rolled his eyes. “Right.”

A few minutes passed. Dorian was just about finishing up this batch of paperwork, ready to move onto some of the much more interesting parts of the job, and Nate was doing... whatever it was that Nate did, Dorian totally wasn’t paying attention  and also didn’t care. Unfortunately, Nate was distracting Dorian – he likely didn’t realise what he was doing, he wasn’t really doing anything at all, but Dorian kept glancing up at him, much more frequently than he usually would have. It was inconvenient, to say the least.

Dorian was halfway through his stack when Nate leaned forward again, giving Dorian a mischievous, probably-supposed-to-be-flirtatious smile that both concerned Dorian and gave him a strange, slightly funny feeling in his chest. He refused to pay that feeling any attention.

“Hey, are you a murderer? ‘Cos you’re killing that outfit.”

Another detective, who’d been passing by their desks, stopped in his tracks and gave Nate an alarmed, wide-eyed look.

“Nate!” He hissed, eyeing Dorian. “You can’t just say that! Not to him! You-  _ you know his past _ .”

Dorian rolled his eyes, trying his best to hide the fact that, unfortunately, he had found the pick-up line endearing. ...And he was trying not to smile. Equally as unfortunate: Nate could see right through him, and his grin had widened. He shifted in his chair, looking Dorian over, and Dorian could already tell he was about to spout another  absolutely awful pick-up line.

“Are you a serial killer? ‘ Cos I know you want my body.”

Dorian’s slight smirk dropped, and he glared at Nate. The other detective, the one who had protested, sighed and wandered off, realising that he probably didn’t want to get involved in this... flirting? Dorian hesitated to call it that. It was something, though. Something he was glad there was no more audience for.

“Are you a murderer?” Nate continued, laughing. “‘Cos you look like you  wanna kill me.”

Dorian snorted, and then immediately covered his mouth, trying to hide it.

“You... are very annoying,” He said finally.

Nate grinned again. “I’m sure you tell that to all the guys you like,” he teased.

“Only the annoying ones,” Dorian said, before adding. “And I don’t like you.”

“Oh, you’re quite the flirt, aren’t you?”

“I’m not flirting,” Dorian lied.

“Sure, you’re not,” Nate teased sarcastically, smirking slightly and leaning back in his chair. He then paused for a moment. “ So. . . I guess I still have to get to know you more?”

“That won’t happen.”

Nate didn’t seem put off. “You doubt my conversational skills. I know more about you than you think.”

Dorian scoffed. “I doubt that.”

“Oh?” Nate leant forward, his expression turning somewhat cocky, which Dorian was sure someone else would totally find attractive. “Your favourite colour’s yellow.”

“That one’s obvious. I’m wearing it almost every day.”

“Your favourite animal’s a snake.”

“How did you know that?”

“I have my ways.”

Dorian crossed his arms, leaning back in his chair. “Whatever. That’s nothing too deep.”

Nate hummed for a moment, drumming his fingers against the desk in thought as he looked over Dorian again. It felt almost like he was peering right into Dorian’s soul, reading him like a book, though for some reason Dorian wasn’t nearly as bothered as he’d be if anyone else was doing it.

“I know that Dorian’s actually your middle name,” he said finally. “Though I haven’t figured out why you always use it instead of your first name, yet.”

Dorian’s lip twitched. Finally. Something that was  actually hard to find out.

“That’s still pretty superficial.” he said instead.

“Maybe. But I also know about you – not just that superficial stuff.”

Dorian quirked an eyebrow, silently signalling for Nate to go on.

“You’re pretty secretive,” Nate continued. “You have a lot to hide. But you’re not that hard to read, if someone pays attention. You’re a good person.”

“Not a lot of people would agree with you there.”

“Well, they’re wrong,” Nate said firmly. No hesitation.

Dorian wanted to ask him how he knew that- how he was so certain- but wasn’t sure if he was ready to hear the answer.

Nate continued. “You care a lot more than you let on, about people in general, but especially your brothers. Family means a lot to you. You may act like your brothers annoy you, but you’d do anything for them, no matter what.”

Dorian wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Was the warmth embarrassment? What was this feeling?

Oh.

_ Oh. _

_ Oh no. _

Dorian huffed, turning away from Nate and refusing to look him in his eyes- or, more accurately, his sunglasses.

“You’re pretty cocky about this,” he said. “How do you know you’re right?”

Nate grinned. “’Cos you’re not telling me I’m wrong.”

“Right. Real convincing there, Cockayne. Top tier evidence. That’d hold up in court.”

Nate laughed. “Aww, you aren’t impressed?”

“I’ve seen better.”

“I’m sure.”

Dorian rolled his eyes, before standing up suddenly and smoothing out his shirt.

“Right, well. I’ve  got to go talk to the captain about... something. I'll be right back,” He said, turning away from Nate and taking a step in the direction of the captain’s office.

“Sure, I’ll be waiting.”

Dorian paused  midstep , hesitating for a moment. Then, he glanced back over his shoulder. 

“You really want know why I go by my middle name?”

Nate nodded, gesturing for him to go on.

Dorian shrugged. “It’s habit, mostly. My brother, Thomas – he’s the only one I’m biologically related to. He always called me Dorian, so when we were adopted everyone else started doing it, too. It’s the only thing I answered to.” He chuckled. “I don’t think three-year-old me even knew that that wasn’t my first name. In  fact, I don’t think I learned that I had another name until I was eight.”

“Aww,” Nate grinned. “I bet you were  really cute as a toddler. Got any baby pictures?”

“Not a chance in hell.”

Nate only laughed at that as Dorian left for his totally real conversation with the captain.

It was a nice laugh.

***

When work was finally over, Dorian almost headed right home, before remembering that tonight had been reserved for actual, non-cover family time at Emile’s place. He sighed heavily and redirected his route.

(He’d never admit aloud that the reason he’d been so distracted was that his head was filled with thoughts of Nate. He wasn’t sure how exactly he felt about him, but it was certainly positive, and more than he’d ever expected to feel about the other cop. But he was barely willing to admit that to himself and he certainly wasn’t ever going to admit that to another living soul.)

Luckily Emile didn’t live too far from him or the precinct, so he got there fairly quickly. He had a spare key – as did every other member of the family, because Emile was the nice brother – so he didn’t waste any time with knocking, and just let himself in.

As soon as Dorian entered the apartment, he immediately came face-to-face with his second cousin, Missy.

“I want to kill you,” they said immediately, instead of simply greeting him.

She paused, gauging his reaction – they did this routine every time they saw each other, so Dorian knew to wait – before continuing to speak. 

“For looking so good in that shirt!” She finally finished. “I’m not kidding, I want that shirt.”

Dorian snorted, kicking off his shoes. “That’s not your best.”

“Rude. I thought it was a good one.”

“It wasn’t very smooth. Not enough wordplay.” He shrugged. “You’ve done better.”

“I’d like to see you come up with a new misleading compliment every time you see someone.”

“Why would you do that, though?”

“Entertainment.”

“Right.”

There was a beat of pause. 

“Peter’s  gonna try to prank you, later, by the way,” Missy added. “Just so you know.”

Dorian gave her a suspicious look, crossing his  arms. “And why exactly are you telling me this?”

Missy smiled sweetly at him. “It’s a warning. Can’t I just do something out of the goodness of my heart?”

“Don’t give me that feigned angelic look. You’re just as bad as him, you’re just subtler about it.”

“You know, considering our family, I’m taking that as a compliment.”

“Fair.” Dorian nodded. “How’s business going?”

“Same as always. Dad and Pop still won’t let me and Peter get any actual blood on our hands, though.” They pouted a bit. “How’s work?” 

“Boring.”

“Damn, really? Remy told me you have a crush on one of your co-workers.” That last part was said with one of the most obviously faux-innocent expressions Dorian had ever seen them have.

Dorian went stock still. “What the fuck?”

“Oh my gosh, you totally do!” Missy giggled. “Your face is so red! Remy, Remy, come here, you were right!”

Remy immediately popped his head out of the kitchen – if Dorian hadn’t been so focused on the fact that he was _ not blushing, dammit, he was  _ _ not _ , he would have wondered why on earth Emile had let him in there. His sunglasses were propped up on his head, and he was grinning that sly grin of his that always meant trouble.

“Ha! Did he finally admit it?”

“No, but look, he’s blushing!”

Dorian crossed his arms stubbornly as Remy looked him over. Then, his older brother started cackling loudly, and Dorian immediately started planning his murder. Poison was too good for him but slipping it into his coffee would be the best way to make sure it happened. It wouldn’t be nearly as satisfying as a good stabbing, though.

“Oh my god. Gurl, you have  _ got  _ to go out with him. I have so many embarrassing stories I could tell him.”

“Don’t be mean to him!” Emile called out from inside the kitchen.

“Boo! Bullying is just how I show my love!”

Dorian rolled his eyes at Remy. “I don’t like you. I’m going to go talk to Emile, now. He’s  officially my only brother.”

“Aww,  gonna crush gush to him?” Remy teased.

“You will die by my hand.”

Dorian walked over to and pushed past Remy, but the moment he stepped into the kitchen, he was suddenly splashed and soaked with water, accompanied with loud, chaotic giggling

“Oh! Oh- dang it, I forgot the goldfish.”

Dorian blinked at Peter, before slowly looking over his dripping shirt and sleeves. “Goldfish?”

“Yeah, it was supposed to be, uh... like finding nemo. Fish, you know?”

“Right,” Dorian said dryly.

Emile finally turned away from the stove, looking over Dorian and Peter and tutting quietly. He gave Peter a disapproving look, though it was  weak, and he was almost smiling. The fact that he hadn’t stopped Peter from pranking Dorian in the first place was very telling, and his faux-innocence mirrored Missy’s. 

“You can borrow one of my shirts, Dorian.”

Dorian sniffed. "I don’t need your pity-shirt.”

“It’s not a pity shirt!”

Remy snorted. “Pity shit.”

“Hey, you’re not supposed to use language like that around us, bitch!” Missy scolded jokingly.

“You’re fifteen, and I can do what I want,” Remy shrugged.

Dorian pinched the bridge of his nose. “I have a spare shirt in my briefcase, I’ll just go get that. I’m much smaller than you anyway, Em.”

Emile shrugged. “ _ Suit  _ yourself.”

“No puns.” Dorian huffed.

“ Ooooo , big fancy man!” Remy teased. “Got himself a  briefcase !”

“Briefcases are better to hit people in the head with than purses are,” Dorian said shortly, crossing into the other room to get his shirt. “And you might want to clean out that mouth of yours before Thomas gets here. We don’t want another lecture.”

Remy waved a hand  noncommittally , meaning he probably wasn’t going to but didn’t feel like arguing either. 

It didn’t take Dorian long to change and, sure enough, by the time he re-emerged Thomas was there, lecturing Remy about being a good example for their baby cousins and why their uncles would be very disappointed in him. A lecture that Remy was paying absolutely no attention to and might have been falling asleep during. 

Some things just never change. 

_ But then again... _ Dorian’s thoughts turned over to Nate, to that smile and to the way he was dedicated to finding out more about Dorian.  _ Maybe some changes were good... _


	8. Chapter Seven

“You can’t tell me you’re okay with people assuming things like that?” Remy asked incredulously.

Emile shrugged awkwardly. “I mean... it’s not like it’s unfounded.”

“Yeah, but you’re hardly  gonna jump across the table and slash their throat! I mean jeez,  gurl , why’d he even swipe right if he was just  gonna be suspicious the whole time?” Remy growled. 

Emile sighed softly and put a hand on his twin’s shoulder. “I really am okay, though. It’s just one bad date.”

“More like thirty,” Remy fumed. “It’s like you can’t have any luck in love, lately!”

Emile huffed. “There were some good ones!”

“Name one.”

“...That one girl who liked whittling! She was nice!” 

“She talked bad about you behind your back,” Remy deadpanned. “That’s why you broke up.”

“Oh, um. Thompson was sweet!” 

Remy rolled his eyes. “That was a  two-week relationship that ended when they found out you’re ace.”

Emile sighed. “They haven’t all been that bad, though.”

Remy rolled his eyes again. “Right.”

He shook his spray can and got back to tagging the wall. They were marking it in warning, to tell people this city was under the guard and watchful eye of the Royal Flush. And to hopefully ward off any more copycat groups from springing up. The idea was to make those not yet in a group too scared to act and those in groups with rocky foundations to disband. They didn’t need any more unprofessional killers on the streets making their job harder.

(And the thought of more people further dirtying their fathers’ legacies left a bad taste in all of their mouths, and Remy often wished he could kill every single one of them.)

But Emile’s heart wasn’t in it tonight. Remy was right – his date today had been awful, using his last name as if it were some kind of threat. It had only been a tinder date, but his hopes had been so high, too high. And it had been awhile since someone had held him as if they treasured him... 

It stung; he wasn’t going to lie about that. 

But love had never been something he was very good at. Not that Remy was any better at it than him. Emile shook his head and swallowed the mean-spirited comments on the tip of his tongue, instead raising his own can.

“...I just hate seeing you hurt,” Remy muttered.

“I know,” Emile sighed. “But I am capable of taking care of myself. I don’t get any more flak than the rest of you.”

“But you aren’t like the rest of us,” Remy’s mouth twisted into a frown, still looking at the paint, rather than his brother. “You’re... nicer. Softer. And it’s not like people refuse coffee from me almost every time they walk in. Unlike you, who’s  actually trying to help people!”

Emile’s mouth pinched. “...I appreciate the thought, but I don’t need you to protect me. I’ll find love one of these days and once I get enough patients, then word of mouth will do its work for me. It’s fine- I'm fine.”

Remy sighed and finished the tag with one long stroke. “...I just worry.”

“We all do,” Emile said, throwing his can into the nearby duffel bag. “We take care of each other. That’s the whole point of family. But I don’t think me not having a date-mate is any bigger than the issues the rest of you have.”

Remy shrugged and hefted the bag onto his shoulder. “I mean... I guess not. But I can’t cure Thomas’ anxiety or Dorian’s  pretty little liar problem. What I can do is help you find someone who knows how good and important and precious my twin is.”

Emile huffed a laugh. “...You left yourself out of that list.”

“Right, because being an alcoholic and sleeping around are in my control? Don’t worry about it.” Remy rolled his eyes and lowered his sunglasses to frown at Emile. “I thought you agreed to not psychoanalyze me.”

“I’m not!” Emile crossed his arms. “Why is it that you’re allowed to worry, but when I do it’s just being a shrink?”

There was a pause, then Remy softened. He shoved his shades back up his nose and started walking. 

“Sorry,” he muttered. “I guess I didn’t need to be that defensive.”

“You really didn’t,” Emile mumbled. “I know you don’t like talking about it, but if there’s anyone I worry about, it’s you.”

“Yeah... I know.”

“I mean it’s just- you're drunk half the time, out all hours of the night, hardly ever in your own bed if there’s not someone in it with you-”

“I know.”

“And I’m worried that one of these days we’re going to turn on the news to find you dead on the roadside!”

“I know...”

“Or, worse, that you’ll have liver failure or something and we won’t know  til -”

“I know!” Remy snapped. 

Emile jumped and saw Remy  immediately regret raising his voice. He sighed softly and raised the bag higher on his shoulder. 

“...I know, Em. I really do,” he said quietly. “...But...”

“...But?”

Remy looked off into the distance, staring off into and beyond space. 

“...No one’s willing to put up with me longer than one night,” Remy muttered. “And I don’t know that I’d want them to. I mean if no one ever has then it’s got to be  some kind of sign , right?”

Emile paused... then gently put a hand on his shoulder. 

“Not no one ever,” He said softly. “We both know not no one ever.”

Remy snorted, but there was no humor in it. “Yeah... but look what happened there.”

Emile shrugged a little. “I can’t blame his parents for it. We were only children.”

“Child murderers,” Remy said dryly. “And after that? Child murderers with no friends and the closest thing to true love ripped away.”

“It was hardly true love,” Emile winced. “We were just kids.”

“Look me in the eyes and tell me you don’t miss him.”

“... Of course, I do,” Emile swallowed, throat suddenly feeling thick. “You know I do. ...But I can’t dwell on it. He wouldn’t have wanted me to. And missing someone hardly makes it true love. People miss those who have hurt them and those who have held them in equal measure, missing someone doesn’t mean that the love was perfect.”

“It would have been,” Remy said, voice soft and distant, as if he were saying it more to himself. “You both deserved that much.”

“...I’m sorry,” Emile said. “I know you must miss him too.”

Remy’s lips twitched but he didn’t smile. “The only one I miss more is our dads. ...I hate not having him in my life.”

“Me too,” Emile admitted. “...I bet he’s probably doing great, though. Probably works at Spirit of Halloween during the fall months.”

That got Remy to smile slightly. “Probably reworks his entire schedule just to help kids find the perfect costume.”

“And got a big yard just so he could fill it up with spooky, moving decorations,” Emile giggled.

“Which of course he leaves up  year-round .”

“Haunted house? Oh no, sir, I think you mean a haunted yard!”

“With a special entrance in the side that isn’t as scary because his heart would break if he didn’t get any trick or treaters,” Remy chuckled. “...Yeah. Toby is probably doing just fine.”

_ Without us _ , went unsaid between them, though Emile knew they were both thinking it. In fact, they said nothing for the rest of the walk to the next point. It wasn’t until Remy set the bag back down and grabbed another can that Emile figured out how to phrase what he wanted to say.

“You don’t have no one,” He said softly. “You’ve never had no one. I’ll always be here for you, Rem. ...Even if it’s not quite the way you’re looking for.”

Remy paused, the hand holding the spray paint listless at his side. “...Thanks.”

Emile crept closer and hugged him from behind. “Anytime. Any time at all...”


	9. Chapter Eight

“So, about the new victims,” Nate said as he approached his desk. 

Dorian glanced up at him, his eyes following the other cop’s body as he sat down opposite him. He looked back up just in time for Nate to lock eyes with him – or, to be more specific, Dorian’s eyes met Nate’s sunglasses. It was impossible to tell  whether Nate had noticed Dorian checking him out, but, either way, Dorian never would have admitted it.

“What about them?”

“You said you had a theory?” Nate prompted, then chuckled. “You know, it’s gonna be a little difficult to work together if you keep insisting on making me figure it all out on my own.”

“You worked it out with the Stebalt case, didn’t you?”

Nate grinned. “Well, I am good at my job, but I believe you agreed to be transparent if I worked your last hunch out. Which I did, cause  I'm almost as brilliant as you! So, come on, give me a little peek into that gorgeous mind of yours.”

Dorian leant back in his chair, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow. “I thought you were good at reading me?” His tone was almost teasing, which he almost regretted, given Nate’s widening smile.

“So, you admit I’m good at that?”

“Shut up.” Dorian looked away.

There was a beat of silence, and then Dorian glanced back to see that Nate was looking at him. It was in that moment – and in most other moments like it – that he wished he could read Nate’s mind. He couldn’t, though, and wishing for it was pointless.  So, he just cleared his throat and straightened up.

“ So... the murders,” Dorian said.

Nate nodded, gesturing for Dorian to continue, so he did.

“Right, so I think I’ve figured out how the Court Jesters got in and out, and how many of them there were at this particular murder,” Dorian began. 

He gestured for Nate to come over, pulling out the photos of the crime scene and watching as the cop wheeled his chair over to him, stopping just at his side and peering over at the pictures. 

Dorian cleared his throat and continued. “So, the two victims were asleep in their beds just before the murders, and the Court Jesters got into their apartment through the side window. The glass was broken with a hammer, and when they were climbing inside one of their clothes got torn by the shards. You found a piece of yellow fabric at the scene, which lines up with the costumes they’ve been known to wear. The victims heard the noise, and the husband made his way out of the bedroom, where two of them jumped him – you can tell it was two by the way he was stabbed, both behind and in front at once – whilst another three went to the bedroom. One held the wife down, and the other two stabbed her. That gives us five Court Jesters total, which lines up with other theories and evidence from other scenes.”

“Right. And then they dragged the husband back to the bed and tucked them in and painted smiles on the victims’ faces in blood.” Nate shuddered with a wry grin. “Creepy and gross, but I almost respect how they stick to a theme. It’s creative, I’ll give them that.”

Dorian snorted, and Nate turned and gave him a quick grin.

Nate turned back to the photos strewn out in front of them,  placing his hand on Dorian’s shoulder. It took a moment for Dorian to stop staring at that hand and unstick the words from his throat, but he managed to get it together after a moment. And a quick cough. 

“So, how do you think they escaped?” Nate asked. “You said you’ve got a theory?”

Dorian nodded, taking a moment to sift through the photographs. He found the right one almost immediately, pulling it out of the pile and holding it between them. It was a picture of the front door of their apartment, from the inside. There was a smear of blood– the husband’s– on the handle. It was small, like someone had tried to wipe it away but missed a spot. The assumption had been that the husband had tried to escape, but Dorian had other ideas.

“I think they left through the front door.”

Nate raised an eyebrow. “In blood-stained jester costumes? It may have been late, but surely someone would’ve spotted them.”

“Right, so that’s why I think they got changed into regular clothes.”

“Really? You think they’d do that?”

“Speaking from experience, yeah.”

Nate blinked hard enough to see through the glasses. “Oh. Right.”

Dorian snorted. “No need to get so awkward, Cockayne,” he said, before reaching towards his computer and opening something. “I managed to get access to the security cameras at the front of the building around the time of the murder and...”

He pulled up the video, and they watched as five people – carrying large bags and dressed in dark clothing with the hoods of their hoodies pulled up – walked out of the apartment building and down the street. None of their faces were visible, so their identities remained hidden, and most of their hair was tucked into the hood, too.

“Unfortunately,” Dorian continued. “There aren’t  any more cameras to follow them from there, so we don’t know where they went after that, but it’s a better lead than anything else we’ve got so far.”

Nate whistled, taking his hand  off Dorian’s shoulder– not that Dorian felt any disappointment, of course– and pausing the video. Then, Nate turned and grinned at him again, and the disappointment immediately turned back into a warm and fuzzy feeling.

“Damn. Nice work, Sanders,” Nate said. “You’re  really good at this, huh?”

“Well, it is my job,” Dorian said dryly. “And I do have some... experience, in this area. Unfortunately.”

That last word – the ‘unfortunately’ – was added almost as a  reflex \- a second thought. Perhaps he was getting a little too comfortable with Nate, if he wasn’t careful, he could reveal  _ everything _ .

Nate grinned. “Well, my friend. Looks like you’ve earned us a coffee break!”

***

“So, your brother works here?”

Dorian scowled. “Unfortunately.” He paused for a moment. “Maybe we should go somewhere else.”

“Aww, come on,” Nate said, his tone of voice almost teasing. “The nearest place sucks and the nearest good place is two blocks away! Remy can’t be  _ that _ bad.”

“Oh, trust me. He is.”

Nate nudged Dorian’s arm with his elbow. “You know, I think you might just be biased.”

“No, he’s a monster, and he’s going to embarrass me in a way that I can’t possibly recover from.”

Nate grinned: a wide, teasing grin that absolutely should  _ not  _ have caused that funny, fluttery feeling in Dorian’s heart. It was a sunny day, so his sunglasses were over his eyes, not that that was  unusual , and, also as usual, Dorian found himself wishing he could see Nate’s eyes and see exactly where and how he was looking.

“Aww, are you trying to impress me?” Nate teased. “Don’t worry, no matter what your brother says or does, I won’t think any differently of you.”

Dorian scoffed. “I am not trying to  _ impress  _ you,” he lied.

“Sure,” Nate said, in that still-grinning tone of voice he had that showed that he absolutely did not believe him.

Dorian rolled his eyes. “Let’s just get this over with.”

He reached for the handle of the door, but paused when Nate suddenly said:

“Wait.”

Dorian glanced back at  him; one eyebrow raised. “What?”

Nate swallowed nervously- possibly the first time Dorian had ever actually seen him nervous. “You know I’m trans, right?”

“What does that have to do with coffee?”

“Well... nothing,” Nate shrugged. “Just wanted to make sure you know. In case anyone... misgenders me or something. It happens so...”

He trailed off, clearly bothered and Dorian rolled his eyes in the most reassuring way he could.

“You literally have a trans flag in your pencil holder, and the other day Joan was lecturing you about exercising in your binder. I would literally have to blind and deaf not to know.”

Nate snorted, still looking nervous. “Fair... Do you mind?”

“Why would I?”

Dorian turned back to the door. He took a moment – both to make wait for Nate’s nerves to settle a little and to question whether the coffee was actually worth what he was about to go through. After a bit, he grabbed the handle and pulled it open. He and Nate stepped inside, and immediately spotted Remy, who was leaning against a counter and flirting with one of his co-workers. He looked up at them, spotting Dorian first and nodding at him. Then Remy saw Nate, and he straightened up, grinning. Apparently, he’d found something worth ditching a hook-up for.

He cupped his hands around his mouth. “Dorian! Is that your  _ boyfriend _ _?” _

Remy was grinning – wide and mischievous and teasing. Dorian wanted to peel it off his face like a sticker, especially as his shout had attracted the attention of everyone else in the coffee shop. But then Nate started laughing, and Dorian ended up staring at him instead of at Remy. His anger suddenly doused like water over a flame.

Nate bumped his  arm against Dorian’s again.

“He doesn’t seem too bad,” he said.

Dorian rolled his eyes. “Just wait.”

They walked over to the counter, and Dorian scowled as Remy very openly looked Nate up and down, clearly checking him out. 

“You know, you’re pretty hot, babe. I’d flirt with you, but I don’t  wanna piss Dorian off.”

“Liar. You  _ always  _ want to piss me off,” Dorian said dryly.

Nate laughed again. He held out his hand towards Remy. “Nate Cockayne, at your service.”

Remy took his hand and shook it slowly – much slower and more... _salaciously_ than he needed to, which Dorian knew was to specifically wind him up. Remy didn’t introduce himself; he didn’t need to; Nate already knew exactly who he was. Though... whether Remy knew he knew or not was up in the air.

Dorian cleared his throat as Remy finally pulled his hand away. His brother turned to him, giving him a smug look.

“I’ve got a new surprise for you, today.”

“Surprise?” Nate asked.

Remy nodded. “Yup. I come up with my own shit, and Dorian tries them out for me.”

“Half the time they’re disasters. What’s in this latest offense against my  tongue ?” Dorian asked.

“That’s the surprise,” Remy grinned. He turned to Nate. “You want one, too?”

“Sure.”

“Any allergies?”

“Nope.”

Dorian turned back to Nate as Remy walked off to prepare the drinks. “Be warned, his last creation had so much caffeine in it that I’m pretty sure it almost killed me.”

Nate shrugged. “Well, I guess that’s what makes it exciting.”

“Exciting? You and I have very different definitions of exciting.”

Nate grinned. “Maybe, but if it sucks, we could always come back and get coffee together again.”

“Don’t push your luck. I don’t like my brother  _ that  _ much.”

Nate only laughed.

***

Dorian and Nate had ended up spending longer in the coffee shop than Dorian would’ve liked. Remy and Nate had also gotten along far better than expected, and – if Remy’s numerous offers of showing Nate baby pictures were any indication – Dorian knew that he’d regret introducing them for a long, long time.

“Well, he seems nice,” Nate said, grinning and nudging Dorian’s arm with his own.

(He was starting to do that a lot, and Dorian was always oh-so aware of every single touch. He wondered, did Nate think about them as much as Dorian did? Did Nate think about  _ him  _ as much as Dorian did...?)

“That’s not the word I’d use,” he finally said.

Nate snorted. “Yeah, well, I still think you might be biased.”

Dorian couldn’t disagree, so he just took another sip of his almost empty and surprisingly well-tasting coffee. He’d have to ask Remy for this the next time he went, and Nate seemed to be enjoying it, too, so maybe he’d bring him along again. Maybe. ...If Remy behaved.

(When they had left the coffee shop, Remy had called after them to have fun on their date. Nate had laughed, and Dorian had told him that it wasn’t a date. But technically they were doing most of the “date” things. He was probably overthinking this.)

Dorian turned back to Nate, opening his mouth to speak, but he was suddenly interrupted by a new voice calling out to them.

“Hey! Hey, you’re Dorian Sanders!”

Just like that, his mood  soured, and he felt his face pinch. Those few words made up one of Dorian’s least favourite sentences in the whole world. It never meant anything good when a stranger recognised him.

Both Dorian and Nate watched as a man approached them. He wore a spotless, bright white jacket with an even brighter red shirt underneath, and a large smile stretched across his face that made Dorian incredibly uneasy. There was a certain familiarity to him that Dorian couldn’t quite put his finger on, like he knew him from somewhere.

The man stopped just in front of them. He didn’t even glance at Nate, his eyes firmly fixed on Dorian.

“You’re Roman Sanders’ kid, right? I knew I recognised you,” he said.

Dorian scowled at him.

“Who are you?” He asked harshly.

“Pryce. Pryce Kingsley.”

That name sounded familiar. The answer to the question “who was he, really” was on the tip of Dorian’s tongue but he couldn’t quite figure it out. It bugged him.

Pryce held his hand out for Dorian to shake. Dorian stared at it for a  moment but didn’t move to shake it. Pryce’s smile twitched– though it remained just as unnervingly bright and shiny and weirdly familiar as ever– but he didn’t comment, just pulled his hand back and stuffed it into the pocket of his jacket.

“So,” Pryce continued, though all Dorian wanted him to do was shut up. “What’s it like being the son of a serial killer?”

“Back off, dude,” Nate snapped, harsher than Dorian had ever heard him speak before. “Leave him alone.”

In retrospect, it was probably good that Nate had stepped in. Though Dorian could practically taste the words on his tongue mingling with now-bitter coffee... he couldn’t quite bring himself to speak. Dorian’s mouth just hung open. 

Most people weren’t so bold with their questioning about his past, and to hear it from such an oddly familiar-looking, smiling man was even more uncomfortable than the cameras and reporters. This wasn’t a bloodhound chasing a scoop, it was an average joe who thought himself entitled to Dorian’s privacy. 

Luckily, the intervention drew attention off Dorian, and Pryce finally seemed to notice Nate. He looked him over, his expression turning disinterested.

“And who might you be?”

“Nate Cockayne.  _ Detective  _ Nate Cockayne.”

Pryce raised his eyebrows. Then, he slowly looked between Nate and Dorian– back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. The corners of his lips started twitching upwards.

“Interesting choice you have in partners, there,” he said.

It was impossible to tell whether he was referring to Nate or Dorian, and whether he used the term ‘partners’ in the professional or romantic sense.

Before either of them could question him, Pryce suddenly clapped his hands together.

“Welp, I have business to attend to. I’ll see you around, Sanders. It was nice to meet you!”

He then turned on his heel and began to walk away with his hands in his pockets. Dorian could him start to whistle a tune as he moved away (a Disney song- what's more: Once Upon a Dream- one Dorian knew by heart) and it left a very bitter taste in his mouth.

It took him almost a whole minute to realise that Nate was staring at him – watching Dorian watch Pryce walk away – and when he did notice, he immediately looked away again.

“You don’t have to defend me,” he mumbled. “I can do it myself.”

Nate hummed. “I know,” he said, his tone almost light and casual. “You can take care of yourself, but I’ve still got your back.”

“Why?”

“Why?” Nate repeated.

“Yes, why?” Dorian said. “Why are you so nice to me?”

Nate thought it over for a moment or two, eyes hidden, but fixated on the horizon. As if the cumulonimbus held the answer to everything Dorian was asking of him.

“I like you,” he said finally. “And you deserve it. Everyone deserves someone  unequivocally in their corner. ...Even if there’s some blood on their hands.”

***

When Dorian stepped into the interrogation room, he was immediately hit by a wave of not quite nausea, but certainly something similarly unpleasant.

The man sat at the table wore round glasses, a grey cardigan and a blue polo-shirt, which was a disturbingly similar outfit, though... the logo was different, the cardigan wasn’t a hoodie with cat paws, and his face was one that Dorian had so far only seen in pictures. He smiled when Dorian walked in, a cheery smile like he was happy to meet him. It made Dorian want to throw up.

His hands tightened around the few papers he held, and he took a moment to steady himself. Then, he swallowed and walked over to the table, sitting down across from Dayd Foster.

“ Dayd Foster, right?” 

“Yup!”  Dayd held his hand out for Dorian to shake. “You must be Detective Sanders, it’s wonderful to meet you!”

Dorian shook his hand, and then pulled away as quickly as he could. He spread the papers out in front of them, and then plucked the relevant one out and held it to Dayd. Dayd took it, looking it over slowly, his brow creasing in confusion.

“What’s this?” He asked.

“This is you, at 2am on Saturday, walking down the same street of the apartment building where Jackson and Emily Wilder were murdered. You walked past the same security camera the Court Jesters did only minutes before. You either  _ are  _ a Court Jester, or you may have walked past them, making you a witness. But you were already a  suspect so I’m inclined to believe the former.”

Dayd blinked. “ Wha \- why?”

“You knew multiple of the Court Jester’s first victims. And now, this. So, answer the question. Why were you walking down that street at that time?”

“Oh, um.”  Dayd sat back in his chair. “I was picking my son, Jeremy, up from a sleepover.”

“At 2am?” Dorian asked,  sceptical .

Dayd nodded. “Oh, yes. He got sick, my poor kiddo! He woke up and was throwing  up, so his friend’s parents called me and came to come get him! That picture must have been taken when I was walking over to come get him.”

Dorian swallowed thickly, a pit settling in his stomach. “Right. Do you have any proof of this?”

“Well, I’m sure you could check with Jeremy’s friends’ parents!”  Dayd said. “Their names are Mary and Alexander Clarke and, um... do you have a pen? I could write down their numbers for you.”

Dorian pulled a pen and small notebook out of his pocket. He silently pushed them across the table and Dayd took both, writing down a set of phone numbers and then pushing them back towards Dorian.

“Gosh, Jeremy was sick for days after that,”  Dayd said, rambling almost thoughtlessly, despite its irrelevance to the case. “Poor kiddo. Luckily, Jemima – my other kiddo – didn't catch it. She’s so healthy! She eats all her greens and loves to run around in the garden. She’s got quite the green thumb, too. Maybe that’s why she eats them,”  Dayd smiled fondly. “Jeremy’s not nearly as active, he just loves the computer! But he’s so smart on that  doohickey in ways I don’t even understand! I’m just so proud- I love them both so much, you know? I guess that’s just what it’s like being a father!”

Dorian felt sick, and clearly it was evident on his face, as  Dayd’s brow suddenly creased with concern. He leant forward, placing his hand just beside Dorian’s on the table with a gesture that was likely meant to be comforting. But that was too familiar to make it anything but worse.

“Are you alright, kiddo?”

The chair screeched when Dorian suddenly stood up. He left the room quickly, making some excuse and flinging the door open- running out as fast as he could without  actually running .

He walked right into Nate, whose relaxed expression changed into a much more alarmed and concerned one the moment his eyes fell onto Dorian’s likely pale face.

“Are you alright?”

“I- I-”

Dorian stumbled over his words. His hand landed on Nate’s arm, squeezing it as he tried to steady himself. Nate grabbed his other arm, holding it gently.

“Let’s go to the break room,” he said, softer. “There’s less people there.”

Dorian nodded, and Nate carefully led him into the break room, shutting the door behind them, and they sat down at the table.

“I- I shouldn’t be freaking out,” Dorian mumbled, only just loud and coherent enough that Nate could hear and understand. “It... it’s nothing.”

“It’s okay. Whatever it is, it’s valid. You can talk to me.”

Dorian swallowed. That did sound... appealing. 

Talking to someone.

Talking to Nate.

“He just...” He trailed off, before sighing. “He just reminded me of my dad, that’s all.”

Nate nodded slowly, understanding. “Which one?” 

“D- dad is... or,  _ was,  _ Patton. Father was Logan. Pop- or Pops was Virgil. And... Papa was Roman. We used a different one for each of them so it wouldn’t be confusing. Half my life I didn’t even know their first names because they just...  _ were  _ my dads . Why would they need any other names?”

Nate nodded. “I get that.”

There was silence for a bit. It was comfortable, like Nate was patiently waiting for him to continue  speaking but would be just as alright and supportive if he never spoken again. Nate’s hand was just beside Dorian’s, and, for a moment, he wondered how nice and warm and comforting it would feel to hold it.

Dorian looked down at his lap.

“I... I miss them.”

Nate hummed.

Then, he gently asked: “All of them?”

Dorian should say no – he knew exactly what he was  _ supposed  _ to say. He had to pretend that Roman was the worst and that he hated him. He’d done it for years. Lying was an old friend, now. He always had to keep up the act, to make sure no one ever knew the truth. But Nate was just so nice and accepting and... and Dorian had accidentally started to trust him

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “All of them.”


	10. Chapter Nine

Nate had left Dorian to catch his breath. After all, the questioning still had to be done, but that didn’t mean Dorian had to do it – especially if  Dayd made him uneasy or brought up... memories. The suburban dad seemed to take it well, apologizing for the incident, but otherwise saying nothing of worth. That was fine, though. He was hardly at the end of the list. 

He took a deep breath before walking into the room holding Teagan Teal – a  humorous name for an otherwise professionally-dressed man. The other man’s face was bright for a moment, only to frown when he registered Nate’s face.

“You are not Officer Sanders,” he said.

“It’s  Detective Sanders, for starters,” Nate huffed. “And he had something come  up, so you’re stuck with me. Detective Cockayne, at your service.”

Teagan’s mouth twisted further downward. “What is that  came up?”

“That’s a private matter. Now then, Mr. Teal, if we could continue to my questions.” Nate shuffled the papers in his file, looking for the photo. “We have reason to believe-”

“I was told I would be meeting with Detective Sanders.” 

Nate looked up at him, brow raised. “I just told you something came up.”

Teagan crossed his arms. “I will not talk to anyone else. Detective Sanders or no one.”

Nate took a deep breath. “I’m his partner. Whatever you have to say to him, you can say to me.”

Teagan shook his head. 

“...We can record this so that it gets back to him?”

“I am sorry, am I stuttering?” Teagan asked incredulously. “Detective Sanders. Or I will not say another word.”

Nate took another two deep breaths. “Sir. Could you at least tell me why it is you want to speak to him and only him? It might give me motivation to fetch him if you give me a reason to.”

Teagan mulled that over for a minute, Nate could practically see the gears in his head turning. 

“I used to like his Papa’s books,” he finally said. “And, given his history, I think Sanders is the only one willing to listen to what I have to say.”

“Well, as sweet as that is-”

Nate stopped. Blinked. The words clicked into place. 

“’Papa’,” he  repeated slowly. “...That’s a bit specific. Now, how did you know to call Roman Sanders that? I didn’t even know that until a few minutes ago and I’ve been getting to know Dorian for a few months now.”

Teagan paled. “I-it was just a guess. One of those generic dad names.”

Nate chuckled. “No. No it’s not. Father or dad would be generic. Papa is specific. Too specific.”

He watched as Teagan gulped nervously and tried not to grin.

“So,” Nate said, leaning back in his chair. “We can either do this the easy way, with you telling me what you know, or the hard way. Which involves me digging up some dirt to see how exactly you know such specific information and slapping a stalking charge on your record. Even if I’m wrong, that will give me probable cause to keep you in here a little longer. Oh, and if you take the easy way, I might sweeten the pot and ask Detective Sanders to give me a hand in here. It all depends on how it goes. So, what’ll it be?”

A drop of sweat appeared on Teagan's brow. He swallowed. Nate tried not to smirk. 

***

_ “Dorian, we  _ _ gotta _ _ go!”  _

“What? Why?”

“I got him to spill, we can make an arrest!”

“What?! How?”

“I’ll explain on the way. Captain! I need a squad at this address ASAP!”

_ “ _ _ Nate!” _

***

And Nate did explain. Explained how Teagan spilled to him the whole story in a desperate bid to save his own skin and to fulfill his cultish longing.

The Court Jesters, he’d explained, were  _ obsessed  _ with the Royal Court and its members. Especially Roman. Their goal was apparently to draw him out of hiding with their anti-hero worship, hoping they’d honor him with all the death and dismemberment. Almost fitting, then, that they called themselves Court Jesters, since they were trying to entertain and impress a Prince. 

They’d somehow gotten it into their heads that Roman Sanders was some kind of bloodied savior of mankind, a fact that made Dorian want to kill them.

(They had it wrong. They didn’t know Roman like Dorian did. They had no right to worship and imitate him like they did.)

Nate wasn’t much less disgusted. In fact, Dorian wasn’t sure when the last time he’d had this much emotion on his objectively attractive face – as he usually seemed so laid-back and chill – though he couldn’t tell if it was directed at quite the same thing Dorian’s was...

“There was a reason  Dayd acted so much like your dad,” he said, sounding angry. “Apparently, certain members were trained to act just like members of the Royal Court. Your family.  Dayd has kids, yeah, but they’re foster kids, and only for show. Teagan was supposed to act like Lo- your Father. But apparently, he’s bad at keeping it up so when he couldn’t do it in front of you, he got huffy. And that gave him cause to make everything unravel.”

Dorian snorted a little, despite his unease. “My father would be way better at that. He wishes he had the range my father did.”

Nate’s lips twitched into a smile before souring again. “Yeah, actually. He does. Calling it a cult is barely an exaggeration. He was practically frothing at the mouth when I told him I’d have you visit after we made the address. It’s like the crowds pressing in just to get a touch of a holy man’s robe. You’re Roman’s kid, so they want just a glimpse of you.”

Dorian shuddered. “No, thank you,” He paused, something  occurring to him. “Is that Pryce guy part of them?”

Nate shook his head. “Not that he told me.  Apparently, they hadn’t found a Roman imitator yet – they wanted him to be perfect – nor a Virgil one. We can investigate it more later, if you want, but Teagan only gave me four names besides his own. That’s three if we don’t count Dayd.”

“Who Rosa is already putting in custody.”

Nate nodded. “Yup. Teagan, too. You’ll have to make good on that promise of visiting, I’m afraid.”

“Ugh. I’ll figure out a way to cope.” Dorian then glanced up at him. “...Good work, Cockayne.”

That got Nate to finally smile. “Just doing my job, but I  gotta say I’ll be happier than usual to lock these creeps up.”

“I agree whole heartedly. Good thing we’re here, huh?” 

Nate nodded and parked the squad car. They stepped out, meeting the rest of the squad at the door, fully armed and ready to storm in. They let Nate take the lead, Dorian just behind him. 

***

The hideout was overtaken in moments. Jack Kelly, Jesse Russell, and Lucy Matthews all in cuffs. 

Their ‘hideout’ was more of a small apartment in an abandoned complex: constructed carefully to look almost exactly like the living room of Dorian’s childhood. All except for the family photos, which had been replaced with headshots of each member of the family – one of their civilian self and one of them in costume as the Royal Court. And across from the couch, where there should have been a mounted television, there was a map of tangled red thread. Supposed sightings of the Prince.

(All false, of course. Roman was better than that, and Dorian could tell just by glancing at them that none of the pictures were really of him. One of them even had facial hair, which Roman would never grow, especially not in that mangy style.)

It made Dorian incredibly uncomfortable, but it was better in here, collecting evidence and taking pictures of it all. Much better than outside, where the convicted murderers were shouting his praises and screaming for just a glance, for his divine mercy, for a touch from his hand. Just thinking about it made his skin crawl. There was such a thing as ‘too much’, and they’d crossed that line miles ago.

So, here he was, snapping pictures of everything that made him a little closer to throwing up. 

He heard someone come in, but didn’t look up, trying to decide which of the facsimile knick-knacks was most condemning. So, when a strong arm wrapped around his shoulders – loose enough to be easily shaken away if necessary – he couldn’t have been blamed for jolting a little. 

He looked up, seeing Nate’s grim face. 

“If you want to leave, I get it,” Nate said softly. “This is... sick. No one will blame you for getting away from it.”

Dorian took a deep, shuddering breath, letting the weight of Nate’s arm seep through him into his shoulders. It was comforting, having someone just... there. No obligations, no motive. Just comfort. 

He snapped a photo of the whole shelf before responding. 

“I think if I’m alone right now I’ll have a breakdown. But... I can’t- my brothers. I- I'm not ready to explain all this to them.”

“Okay.” Nate nodded. “You want me to come?”

“You have a job to do.”

“You’re more important.”

“...Okay.”

Nate squeezed his shoulder a little and started guiding him out. He handed the camera off to someone at the entrance and started prattling. He talked loudly about  nothing in particular, giving Dorian something to focus on that wasn’t the shouts of his would-be devotees. Dorian wasn’t sure how to tell him how grateful he was for that, so he said nothing. He just let Nate guide him off, out, and away. 

They drove for a bit before Nate finally stopped at a small diner and led him inside. It had sweet black and white tiles and darling little booths. 

“And the best homemade rolls his side of the coast,” Nate added with a chuckle. 

Dorian laughed a little. “This is the kind of place Emile would love. Vintage chic.”

“Well I hope you like it, too.” Nate said with a smile. “It’s my second favorite place in the city.”

“What’s your first favorite?”

“Oh, I'm saving that for our date,” he winked.

Dorian snorted, in spite of himself.

“Still so sure I’ll say yes,” he said.

Nate shrugged. “A guy can dream.  Plus, you seemed like you needed the pick me up and thinking I have a chance with you is always good for a laugh.”

Dorian picked at his shirt sleeve a little. “You don’t have  _ no  _ chance...”

Nate shrugged again and led him into a booth. He ordered two milkshakes and sat back in the seat, gazing at Dorian with an expression made unreadable by those damn sunglasses. 

“...Maybe you shouldn’t visit Teagan in jail,” He said.

Dorian snorted. “I can’t believe you’re still thinking of that.”

“I’m thinking about this whole, long, shitty-ass day.” Nate tilted his head back to look at the ceiling. “You know, I’d hoped our first big case would be easy, but this was... rough.”

“Tell me about it,” Dorian said. 

He leaned forward, resting his chin on a fist and looking out towards the diner. His eyes kept drifting back to Nate, no matter what he tried to stare at. He couldn’t help it! Nate had a certain... magnetic easiness to him. He was easier to think of than the day’s events. Even if-

You know what? Screw it.

“Okay.”

Nate’s head snapped to him. “...What?”

“Okay,” Dorian repeated. “You can take me to your first favorite place in the city.”

Nate’s brows furrowed for a moment before shooting upwards. 

“Wait,” he leaned forward, almost halfway across the table.  _ “Really?” _

“I did tell you: you don’t have no chance,” Dorian snorted, looking away a little awkwardly. “And... you’ve really been there for me today. So, what the hell? I’ll give you a chance. But if the date sucks, I reserve the right to bail.” 

Nate held up his hands in surrender, his slowly growing grin betraying how he was really feeling about this turn of events.

“I’m cool with that!” He said. “I’ll just have to make sure it doesn’t suck – which unfortunately means I’ll have to avoid being blinded by your roughish good looks, ‘cos being near those will make everything seem great to me.”

Dorian let his face split into a smile and laughed, hiding his mouth behind one hand. “You’re a dork.”

“Gladly be your dork,” Nate said sappily. 

“We’ll see,” Dorian said softly. “One date. Then we’ll see where it goes from there.”

Nate beamed. “I’ll take it! ...Do I still have to call you Detective Sanders?”

Their shakes came before Dorian could respond so he took a second to think. He bopped the straw up and down while Nate thanked the waitress and ordered some rolls. He sighed softly when Nate turned back to him, expectant.

“You can call me Dorian...or Janus, if you want.”

Nate’s smile  stretched so wide that it practically hid behind his sunglasses. He reached over, carefully, giving time to pull away, and snagged Dorian’s hand in his. 

“I’d like that,” He said, voice elated and soft at once. “I’d like that a lot.”


	11. Chapter Ten

Needless to say, the capture of the Court Jesters had had the remaining Sanders family in a bit of a tizzy. Remy had thought it was stupid to call it a tizzy, but Emile thought that was better than ‘tailspin’ or “barely concealed fit of rage.” Not that Emile wasn’t angry like his brothers! Oh no. He was livid. On the inside. Deep inside. Someone had to be the level-headed brother, after all. And it wasn’t going to be Thomas this time around.  So, it needed to be him.

Emile took a deep breath and looked down the street. It was almost empty this time of day, which was nice. He needed to be alone with his thoughts for a moment. 

He started to head out, the bitter cold nipping at his nose as he checked his phone for directions to the nearest bakery. He needed baked goodies and he needed them stat. 

He was jolted from his musings of Bread’s versus  Orwashers by a loud voice with just the barest trace of  Spanish accent calling his name.

He whipped around, coming face to face with... a man in a bright white jacket and an even brighter smile. 

“You’re Emile Sanders, right?” he asked.

Emile blinked. “Um... Oh! Yes. Yes, that’s me.”

The man grabbed his hand and pumped it up and down. “Wonderful! It’s great to meet you, I’m a big fan of your dads. Or, I guess I was, ha-ha. Hard to be a fan of a guy who’s not around! Am I right?” 

Emile laughed nervously. “Right... um, who are you?”

“Pryce! Pryce Kingsley, at your service.”

“Pryce,” Emile yanked his hand back as kindly as he could. “ So, is there something I could do to help you?”

Pyrce’s eyes glittered excitedly. “Sure! Have you seen your dads recently?”

Emile balked. “P-Pardon me?”

“Your fathers. Have you seen them anytime within this last year?”

Emile closed his eyes and took three deep breaths before responding. “I don’t know why you’re asking, but you have got  _ some  _ nerve. Asking a  person a question like that...” He shook his head and started walking away. “The answer is no. Not that I’d tell you if I had.”

*** 

Emile was practically steaming the entire time he was eating his muffin. The  _ nerve _ ! Some people’s kids, man, they just didn’t get taught any manners! 

He was about to  launch into another mental tirade, when his phone dinged happily to let him know he’d been texted. He opened it up to see a message from Remy.

** REMY **

_ yo _ _ bro _

_ you know that price guy? _

** EMILE **

_ Pryce? White jacket? _

** REMY **

_ yea him _

_ so _ _ he came by my store _

** EMILE **

_ D: Oh yikes!!! _

_ I saw him earlier and he was so rude!!!!!!! _

** REMY **

_ yea  _ _ ill _ _ bet _

_ his mood did not  _ _ imporve _ _ either _

_ *improve _

_ he came right up and asked all sorts of invasive Qs _

_ so _ _ I took him out back and slugged him _

** EMILE **

_ you WHAT?!? _

** REMY **

_ chill its fine lmao _

_ his nose is broke but my fingers  _ _ arent _

** EMILE **

_ NOT MY POINT _

** REMY  **

_ B/ _

** EMILE **

_ [sighing gif] _

_ Did he at least leave after that? _

** REMY **

_ yea _

_ but the owner is chewing me out for  _ _ smth _ _ reflecting bad on the company or  _ _ whatevs _ _ so I wouldn’t come by my joint  _ _ tonite _ _ if I was u _

** EMILE **

_ Awww _ _ : ( _

_ But my throat is dry from the muffin I just had _

_ Also _ _ I love you _

** REMY **

_ srry _ _ babe. Ill  _ _ getchu _ _ next muffin _

_ but coming by  _ _ rn _ _ is 0/10  _ _ recomennded _ _.  _

** EMILE **

_ * _ _ recommended _ __

** REMY **

_ ya _ _ that _

** EMILE **

_ : _ __ _ ( ok _ _.  _ _ Ily _ _ bye! _

** REMY **

_ ly _ _ bi! _

Emile sighed and switched off his phone. He hesitated a few seconds, debating. He could go back to the bakery, but bakeries don’t serve the really really good coffee with all the drizzles. After a moment, he pulled up his  gps and scrolled through options. 

Proper Pour caught his eye and, well... it was better than nothing. He hit the button and set out on his way. 

It was a quaint little place, with soft wood trimmings, a classic chalkboard menu, and a little bell that rang when he came in. There weren’t too many patrons besides himself, just a cluster of people in  Warby Parker glasses and scarves on one end of the room, and on the other a tall man in a studded leather jacket, hair cut  asymmetrically so that the part  facing Emile draped over his face and blocked it from view. Emile made a mental note to ask one of his clients if they’d like a cut like that. It’d look good on them. 

He ordered his raspberry flavored mocha and sat nearby to scroll while he waited. The barista called his name, he took the drink and walked out, passing the now-rigid leather jacket guy on his way out. 

That should have been the end of it. He wondered what was bugging the biker guy, but he would have thought no more about it. If...

If his name hadn’t been called out by an all-too-familiar voice for the second time that day. 

Emile turned, a few of the  year's first snowflakes getting caught in his hair as he did. The snow was gently drifting down, into his vision but not enough to obscure the sight of the biker guy staring at him from the coffee shop door. 

“Yes?” he asked nervously.

“Emile Sanders?” He asked. 

Emile swallowed. “Sir, I’ve had enough questions about my  fathers today, if you don’t mind.”

He started to turn away, but then the man’s eyes blew wide and he quickly shook his head. 

“No, no... I-” he faltered. “...Do you still have that pin?”

Emile blinked. “I’m sorry?”

“The pin.” The man swallowed. “The... it had Ruby and Sapphire on it. And I gave it to you for...”

“...For our date,” Emile finished.

It felt like the world had tilted, the sidewalk dropping out from beneath him and being replaced with clouds. Maybe it was just the building snow, or maybe it was the sweetness of a first love never-quite-forgotten. But the longer he looked, the more he realized that the stranger in front of him was no stranger at all.

“...Toby?” he asked quietly.

The biker –  _ Toby –  _ laughed and started running towards him. Emile started running too, dropping his coffee in the process because this was  _ far  _ more important. 

They met in the middle and Toby didn’t miss a beat, scooping Emile into his arms and up  up up , twirling through the snow as if it had been nothing but a long trip that separated them. They probably looked a little ridiculous to any passers-by, but Emile couldn’t possibly have cared any less. He felt like his heart was about to explode with joy.

_ “Toby!”  _ Emile cried, almost literally about to burst into tears. “Toby  Picani , what on earth are you doing in Brooklyn?”

“It’s a long story,” Toby laughed. “But I’ll tell it to you. I’ll tell you anything you want until you’re sick of me!” 

Emile laughed, a few tears leaking from his eyes and dripping down his cheeks. “Toby.”

“Emile,” Toby said, breathless and reverent. “This is...  _ wow.” _

Emile stared into Toby’s eyes. They were exactly the same as they’d been the last time they’d met, and exactly the same as they were in every daydream Emile had had since then. That made sense, he shouldn’t have been surprised, but he still melted in Toby’s arms. Then, his eyes flicked down and landed on Toby’s lips, and before he could stop himself, he asked:

“Are you single?”

Toby blinked, and then his eyes flicked down, too, for just a moment, and Emile was breathless.

“Yeah, you?”

Emile nodded. “Yeah.”

There was a beat.

“...Is it too much to ask if I can kiss you?”

Emile laughed again – breathless and surprised and oh-so happy – pressing a hand to his mouth just to keep from crying. “No! No, please do. Kiss me.  Again and again until I know for sure that I’m not dreaming this while passed out on the concrete.”

“If you were, I’d kiss you to wake you,” Toby said. 

He put Emile down and gently tucked a stray curl behind Emile’s ear. Emile reached up and locked his hands around Toby’s neck and tugged him down until they were nose-to-nose. 

“Toby...”

Without another word between them, they pressed their lips together, moving in unison as if Fate herself was tired of the waiting. Emile knew he was. 

Toby’s lips were sweet, with a bitter aftertaste. He tasted like coffee and longing and a parting gone too long without sweet  sweet catharsis . He felt like home and everything Emile had ever wanted. And as the first snow fell around them, and thoughts of the boy in his arms crowded to be the only ones in his mind, Emile knew only one thing.

This... this was perfect. 


	12. Chapter Eleven

Emile hadn’t let go of Toby’s hand since the moment they stepped into his apartment, like he was scared that the second he stopped touching him, he’d disappear again.

He was, a little bit, but mostly he was just giddy with joy.

Toby was here. He was  _ here. _

He was here in Emile’s apartment, holding his hand. He was here and he was  real, and Emile had already pinched himself a million times to make sure he wasn’t dreaming, but it never did anything as he wasn’t dreaming. It was  _ real _ .

They were sitting on the couch – much closer than they needed to be, though neither of them had mentioned it – talking and joking and laughing and Toby was real. Emile couldn’t stop smiling. His face ached a little bit, but he couldn’t have possibly cared any less.

They hadn’t kissed again since that first kiss.

(There were hints of anxiety creeping at the edges of Emile’s elation, because what if the kiss had only happened because neither of them had been really thinking clearly? What if Toby never wanted to kiss him again? What if...)

Emile pushed those thoughts down. It was easy enough, as Toby’s handsome face and pretty eyes and dark hair and slight smile were all incredibly distracting. His expression – so soft and so happy, like he’d missed Emile just as much as Emile had missed him – made Emile’s heart swell even further with joy.

“So, you’re finally a therapist?” Toby asked. “Like you always wanted to be.”

Emile nodded, smiling. “Yup! And it’s- it’s exactly how I always dreamed it would be. I was worried for a while that ‘cos of... everything... I’d never be able to do it, but I guess I got lucky. It’s amazing, honestly.”

“I bet all your patients love you.”

Emile laughed. “Well, sometimes they take a while to warm up to me, but I think I’m doing pretty okay! What about you, what do you do now?”

“Well, I’ve got a costume shop, now. For theatre and Halloween and all that.”

“That sounds like you,” Emile said, doing nothing to mask the fondness in his voice. “I’ll have to stop by sometime.”

“I’d like that,” Toby said. “So, how’s Remy?”

Emile sat up straighter. “Oh! Remy! I should text him. He’ll be so excited to see you!”

He finally – and reluctantly – dropped Toby’s hand, patting his pockets to look for his phone. He found it quickly and fished it out, turning it on and pulling a slight face at the low charge.

Toby smiled. “Is he the same as he’s always been?”

“Oh, yes. He’s just as... Remy as ever. Still hasn’t really matured, yet.”

Toby laughed. “I’d expect nothing less from him.” He watched as Emile opened the text conversation with Remy. “Can we surprise him?” He asked. “Don’t tell him I’m here, just ask him to come over.”

“Ooh, good idea!” Emile grinned. “Do you think I should film it?”

“Absolutely,” Toby said. “Make sure to send it to me, too.”

“Dorian will probably use it as blackmail material,” Emile said, typing out the message, looking it over one, and pressing send.

** EMILE **

_ You need to come over  _ _ rn _ _!!!! _

_ I have a surprise for you!!! _

_ Its _ _ v important!!!!! _

_ : D!!!!!! _

** REMY **

what is it

** EMILE **

_ Not telling cos  _ _ its _ _ a surprise!!!!! _

** REMY **

_ >B( _

_ rude _

_ pls? _

_ ill _ _ give u coffe _

_ *coffee _

“How is Dorian?” Toby asked.

Emile looked up from his phone, smiling again. “Oh! He’s a cop now.”

“Really? Good for him.”

“Yeah. And he’s totally got a crush on one of his co-workers. His face gets so soft when he talks about him, though he’ll never admit it,” Emile said. “But he’s finally going on a date with him, soon. So, we’re all pretty excited for him!”

Toby smiled. “Nice. Are you guys  gonna do that whole ‘protective big brother’ thing?”

“Actually, I’m pretty sure Remy’s already been flirting with him.”

Toby laughed. “That does sound like him.”

“Yeah. Dorian wasn’t too happy, though. He called me to complain about it, though he still wouldn’t really admit that he’s got feelings for him.”

“I bet he’ll be grateful for the blackmail.”

“Oh, yeah,” Emile nodded. “He’s got a whole collection.”

***

Remy was confused,  and a little wary, too. Usually, when Emile had a surprised planned, it was easy enough to get information out of him, but this time he’d stayed silent. He’d even stopped texting once Remy had started pressuring him for answers – though perhaps he’d just been distracted by whatever the surprise was.

Remy had pouted at the lack of answer, but then stuffed the phone back into his pocket as he began his walk towards his twin’s apartment.

His boss had ‘encouraged’ him to take the rest of the day off after his incident with Pryce, earlier. The bastard had been practically begging to have his teeth kicked in – and there’d almost been  some kind of sick joy at having  _ Remy  _ of all people being the one hurting him – but his boss still hadn’t been thrilled. It reflected badly on the business, apparently, especially as Remy hadn’t even pretended to regret it.

The one upside to Pryce’s interest in his family, though, was that he likely wasn’t going to get the police involved, which Remy would never admit that he was grateful for. They didn’t need that kind of publicity. Even if Dorian  _ was  _ the police. 

He whistled as he walked – with the occasional almost dance-like shimmy as he got to the catchiest parts of the songs he was whistling. This caused quite a few other pedestrians to stare at him, and their looks often lengthened as they looked him up and down, checking him out. Some of them were attractive enough that in another situation he might’ve flirted with them, but he was already eager to find out whatever Emile’s surprise was, so he didn’t stop to talk to any of them. He did, however, throw out a few winks in case he ran into one of them at a club later. You never know, right?

It didn’t take him too long to arrive at Emile’s apartment.

When he did, he took a moment to decide between knocking or breaking in without warning – he had a key, but picking the lock was much more fun. In the end, he decided to knock. He’d broken in the last three times; it was time to shake things up.

Three loud raps with the unbruised knuckles.

There was suddenly movement from beyond the door – indistinguishable mumbling, then footsteps away from the door, and another door shutting behind them. Then, another set of footsteps approached the front door and it opened, and Remy was now face-to-face with his twin.

Emile’s face was pinker than usual. His tie was uneven, and he was shifting from side-to-side – practically wiggling and jumping up and down on the spot – indicating that he was very, very excited about something.

Remy raised an eyebrow. “What’s up?”

“I- I have a surprise for you!”

Before Remy could question him, Emile had grabbed his brother’s hands and tugged him into the apartment. He then dropped his hands as Remy stumbled slightly – startled – quickly shutting the door behind him.

Then, he beamed, wide and so, so excited.

“You will not believe this!”

“I dunno, gurl. I’ve seen a lot of crazy shit, this can’t be that big.”

Emile giggled. “No, it’s- it’s  _ big _ .”

Remy looked around the living area of the apartment. There was nothing new, no gifts, nor any sign of whatever other person he’d heard. He raised one eyebrow at his twin, who was still smiling and practically jumping up and down on the spot.

Emile tilted his head towards the little hallway.

“Come on,” he said. “It’s-  _ he’s  _ in my bedroom.”

“Ooh, he? Now you’ve  _ really  _ got in my attention. And in your bedroom, too? How scandalous!”

Emile laughed, elbowing his brother in the ribs.

“Not like  _ that,  _ you goof.” He nudged Remy again, this time in the direction of his bedroom. “Go on, now. I  wanna see your face when you see him.”

“Okay, okay. Don’t get your panties in a twist, I’m going.”

Remy turned and started walking in the direction of Emile’s bedroom. He heard his brother take his phone out and turn on the camera behind him, which was slightly odd, but he’d never complain about being on camera, so he didn’t comment. 

... Actually, considering that Emile was filming it was probably one of  Thomas ’ Disney or  Pokémon pranks. The guy in his bedroom was probably Thomas in a costume and Emile was the one filming to make it less suspicious. 

He stopped in front of the bedroom door. Remy glanced back over his shoulder at Emile, confirming that he was, in fact, filming him. Ah well. Remy had fallen for plenty of them, so what was one more prank? He hoped Thomas’ followers liked his scared face. Emile nodded eagerly, and he turned back to the door, pushing it open.

It took him a second to recognise the man standing just beside Emile’s bed, who looked up at the them the moment the door opened. That was not Thomas. That was a tall, dark haired... 

His mouth fell open as a wave of joy and...  _ relief  _ washed over him.

Toby.

Toby. Toby!  _ Toby! _

Toby was right in front of him.

His best friend – despite the years apart, Remy still secretly considered him his best friend, second only to his own family – was right in front of him. And he looked just as happy to see Remy as Remy felt to see him.

Remy laughed loudly, and he rushed forward so quickly that he almost tripped over his own feet.

He pulled Toby into a hug that was immediately reciprocated. It was so tight – like he was scared Toby would suddenly disappear again – that he ended up unintentionally lifting Toby off the ground a few inches, and both Toby and Emile started laughing at that.

“Oh, you’re- you’re strong,” Toby laughed.

Remy finally put him down, his hands moving to Toby’s arms as he looked him over quickly.

“And you’re tall. Jesus Christ, Toby, you’re a beanstalk! Did you ever stop growing? You must be, like, ten feet tall by now!”

“Something like that, yeah,” Toby grinned.

Remy grinned back at him. “God, I’ve missed you.”

“And I missed you,” Toby said, sniffling a little as tears glittered in his eyes. “God, you’ve no idea how much I missed you.”

“No going ever again, okay?” Remy said. “It’s strictly forbidden. By order of Remy Sanders.”

Toby snorted and pulled Remy into another hug. “I can definitely follow those orders.”

Toby was  _ here _ . They were finally-  _ finally-  _ together again. And the world was finally right.


	13. Chapter Twelve

“What are you all doing here, again?”

Remy grinned, dropping his elbow onto Dorian’s shoulder and ignoring his grumbled protests about being used as an arm rest.

“We are here to make sure you have the best date of your life. And to make sure you wear something cute, but not  _ too  _ cute so he doesn’t think you’re trying hard to get laid.” He paused for a moment. “Unless you are-”

Dorian elbowed him and stepped away, glaring at Remy as his brother started laughing at him. 

“I do not need your help,” he snapped.

“Really? When was the last time you went on a date?”

Dorian crossed his arms. “When was the last time  _ you  _ went on a date?”

Remy opened his mouth.

“With someone you actually have romantic feelings for,” Dorian finished. “Not just someone you wanted to sleep with.”

Remy closed his mouth, and become to hum in thought, tapping his foot against the floor as he took far, far too long to figure that one out. Then, after a few moments of thinking, he shrugged and gave up, completely unbothered.

“This isn’t about me, babe.”

Dorian rolled his eyes. “Oh,  _ now  _ you decide not to make everything about you. How come you never do this when I actually don’t want to talk about you?”

“Play nice, boys,” Emile cut in, before Remy could make some sassy remark to escalate the argument. “And, Dorian, we’re here because we love and want to support you!”

Remy sat down on the arm rest of the couch, leaning back and crossing one leg over the other, placing the hand not holding coffee on the back of the sofa. Thomas – who was laying across the it, his feet by Remy – raised his hand. 

“Are we going to ignore the fact that Dorian just admitted to his romantic feelings for Nate?”

Dorian’s face reddened. “I did  _ not _ ,” he hissed. “Shut up.”

Remy cackled. “Oh my god, you did! Ha, I wish I’d gotten that one recorded.” He grinned again – that signature teasing grin that Dorian despised oh-so much – and mimed that he was about to pull his phone from his pocket. “Mind saying it again, so I can catch it on camera?”

“Go to hell.”

“Be nice,” Emile chastised gently. “Let’s get back to the subject! What are you wearing for your date, Dorian?”

Dorian turned away from Remy, towards Emile. His brow scrunched up as he looked over himself, then back at his brother. 

“This?” He said, gesturing to his possibly-a-little-too-bright-yellow-but-he-liked-it-that-way button-up shirt.

Remy scoffed. “And you say you don’t need our help.”

Dorian turned back to Remy to glare at him. “He said not to dress too fancy. This isn’t fancy.”

“And you look great,” Emile smiled, before Remy could say something that would make his face even more  punchable to Dorian. “What time’s he  coming ?”

Dorian glanced at the clock. “Fifteen minutes.”

“Great!” Remy grinned. “That’s enough time to put a  lil bit of makeup on you.”

“Ooh,” Thomas chimed in. “What kind?”

“No,” Dorian interrupted before Remy could answer him. “You’ll make me look like a  clown; I don’t trust you.”

“Aww, come on. Would I do that?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, fair. But would I embarrass you in front of the guy you like?”

“Yes.”

Thomas raised his hand again. “You would, and you have. Remember that guy six years ago-”

Dorian groaned at the reminder, burying his face in his hands, and Remy immediately started laughing. Emile just looked confused though and hummed in thought.

“Was he the guy who-”

“Yup!” Remy grinned. “Remember-”

“Don’t,” Dorian interrupted, grumbling into the palms of his hands. “I don’t want to remember.”

Remy cackled. “I  _ saved  _ you from him! If I hadn’t messed with you, you might’ve  actually gone on a date with that bitch! Now  _ that  _ would’ve been a disaster.”

Thomas and Emile both voiced their own half-amused agreements as Remy continued to joke about the almost-date that he’d ruined. It took almost a whole minute for one of them – Emile – to realise that Dorian had stopped talking. He turned back to their youngest brother, who had dropped his hands and was now lost in thought.

“You good, Dee?”

“Is this a mistake?” He asked. “This... date. Is it a mistake? Should I have said no?”

Remy blew a raspberry. “Nah, it’s not a mistake, you’re just a coward.”

Thomas sat up and elbowed him in the ribs, and Remy yelped in pain. He rubbed the aching spot and pouted, mumbling dramatically about how Thomas had just ‘maimed’ him.

Emile stepped towards Dorian, taking his hands and squeezing them supportively.

“It’s not a mistake,” he reassured him. “You’re just nervous! Which is totally normal for a first date, especially a first date with a guy you really like!”

“I don’t ‘really like’ him.”

“Bullshit!” Remy shouted, cupping his hands around his  mouth to shout louder and emphasise his point .

“Literally nobody believes you,” Thomas added.

“Not even Nate!” Remy continued gleefully.

Dorian glared at them. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“ _ Sure,  _ we don’t,” Remy said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. Then, he turned back to Thomas. “And you’re next, you know.”

“What?”

“Well, Emmy’s got Toby, and Dorian’s got Nate. So, you’re next up to get a man! Or maybe men, plural. Doesn’t that sound fun? You could-”

Thomas picked up a pillow and whacked Remy in the chest, causing his brother to almost slip right off the arm rest. His arms flailed in the air and his sunglasses slipped right off his nose, falling into his lap.

“Shut up,” he said, half-laughing. “This is about Dorian’s love life, okay? Not mine.”

“Lack of a love life, you mean,” Remy snorted.

“I am  _ literally  _ just about to go on a date.”

Just as Dorian finished saying that, there was a loud knock on the door, and all four of the brothers jumped in surprise, as if they’d somehow forgotten that Nate was about to arrive.

Remy immediately tried to jump up ,  and Dorian practically saw his whole life flash before his eyes, as if Remy opening the door and talking to Nate, right now, would literally kill him. Fortunately, both Thomas and Emile acted before Remy could stand up, grabbing him by the shoulders and keeping him in place.

Dorian let out an audible sound of relief and Remy made an incredibly offended noise.

“Thank you,” he said. “Could you maybe gag him, too? I don’t want him shouting anything embarrassing and scaring Nate off.”

“Hey!” Remy exclaimed. “I  wou \- mm!”

Thomas slammed his hand over Remy’s mouth. Emile gave both him and Dorian a chastising look, though he also looked like he was trying not to  laugh and made no move to help Remy.

Dorian turned back to the door. He took a moment to take a deep breath and push down the remaining nerves that swirled inside of him. Then, he marched over to the door and pulled it open, instantly coming face-to-face with Nate.

Nate’s whole face lit up when he saw Dorian, which absolutely did  _ not  _ make his heart skip a beat in his chest. In one hand, he was holding a bouquet of pretty yellow flowers, his other hand stuffed into the pocket of his ever-present leather jacket, which was over a black dress shirt  rahter than the usual tee. For once, he didn’t have his sunglasses on, and his dark eyes were visible and very, very pretty.

It took a lot of effort for Dorian not to lean in close to get a better look at his eyes, and it also took a lot of effort for him to not glance back at his brothers, as he did  _ not  _ want to see their reactions to the way he was looking at Nate.

Nate held out the flowers to Dorian. “Here, these are for you. Uh... obviously.”

He grinned. It was a little awkward, but  charming, nonetheless.

Dorian took the flowers, looking them over. “Oh, thank you. Um... I will...”

He heard movement behind them, and Emile approached to gently take the flowers from him. He gave Nate a (thankfully) quick greeting smile, before he turned to Dorian.

“I’ll find something to put these in. It’s nice to meet you, Nate!”

“You, too,” Nate nodded in greeting, before turning back to smile at Dorian. “Shall we go?”

“Yeah, before Remy escapes and embarrasses me.”

“Escapes?”

“Don’t ask,” Dorian said flatly.

“Alrighty, then,” Nate replied, stuffing his other hand into his pocket and half-smirking, amused at him.

Dorian took a step forward, and Nate stepped to the side to let him walk through the door. He then quickly shut it behind him – calling out a quick ‘bye’ behind him, though not giving his brothers any time to respond.

The tension in his shoulders quickly melted away  since  he no longer had to worry about his brothers embarrassing him. When Nate offered him his arm, he took it easily, tucking his hand into the other man’s elbow and (hopefully not obviously) feeling the muscles through his jacket with his fingertips.

“Can I ask where we’re going?”

“Nope!”

Dorian rolled his  eyes but didn’t complain as Nate began to lead him away from his door.

Then, the door suddenly opened behind them, and Dorian felt the very strong urge to curse. They both glanced back to see Remy lean out of the doorway and grin at them.

“Use protection!” He called out.

He was immediately tugged back through the door – cackling loudly – and Emile’s head popped out to shoot them an apologetic look.

“Sorry! Have fun, you two!”

Then, he disappeared and shut the door behind him.

There was a beat.

“I’m going to kill him.”

Nate laughed. “Could you at least wait ‘til after our date?”

***

The date was (unfortunately) going well.

Dinner was nice. Nate was even better than nice. He was sweet, and a gentleman, and very fun to talk with, and Dorian was ( unfortunately ) very attracted to him.

“- And  _ then _ , two guys – covered in hickeys and both only half-dressed – walk out of Remy’s bedroom and completely ruin my appetite for breakfast. They leave, and Remy comes out a few minutes later, shirtless and with so many hickeys of his own, looking smug as hell. That’s why we had to make it a rule that he couldn’t bring any guys back home.”

Nate snorted, pushing his food around his plate with his fork. “You know, I’ve barely spoken to the guy, but that really does sound like him.”

“Right? He’s  _ actually  _ the worst.”

“What about your other brothers, what did they think about the rule?”

“Not a problem for  Em , he doesn’t do that  kinda stuff. Thomas didn’t really mind either, but Remy would  _ not  _ stop complaining about it.”

Nate nodded empathetically. “ Mmm . I bet you were glad when you moved out then, huh?” He half-joked.

“Eh, it’s not like it really made a difference,” Dorian said, stabbing a piece of meat with his fork and gesturing with it. “Remy’s like a stray cat. He likes to wander around. He has his own place, but he doesn’t usually sleep there unless it’s with someone else. The rest of the time, he sleeps at one of our places.”

“Well, it must be nice being close to your family like that.”

Dorian hummed in agreement.

He chewed and swallowed his mouthful of food, and a minute passed of the two of them eating in comfortable silence.

“So, what’s your family like?” Dorian asked after a bit.

Nate pulled a face. “I’m not close to them. I’m an only child, and I guess my parents had very different expectations of me to how I turned out. Both in general and with being trans. We drifted apart and... I’ve made peace with that. I am who I am, and if they couldn’t accept that then that’s on them. I’m still here for them to reach out to, if they ever realise that I’m not the person I am in their heads.”

“That’s... a very mature attitude to have on that. Most people would probably be a lot more emotional about it.”

Nate shrugged. “I’ve been upset about it, but now I guess I’m just... I don’t know, a bit done with them. They can either accept who I  am, or stay out of my life. They’re still my parents, though, and I’ll probably always love them, no matter what. Even if that means they never see me again.”

Dorian let out a short, humourless laugh, almost without thinking. “Yeah, I feel that.”

Nate gave him an odd look, tilting his head.

“I figured,” he said.

Nate may not have understood the cause of Dorian’s complicated feelings towards his parents, but he still seemed to understand and respect it much more than most. Dorian hadn’t cared about the murders – not that he could tell Nate that, for obvious reasons.  But the abandonment had hurt in a way that couldn’t easily be moved past and in a way that likely wouldn’t be resolved if he never saw them again...

Dorian coughed, trying to move on. “Well, this is a rather dreary subject for a first date. Let’s move on.”

Nate snorted. “Yeah, fair enough. Are you enjoying the food?”

“It’s good. You have better taste than I expected.”

Nate laughed.

“Is that supposed to be an insult or a compliment?” He teased.

Dorian smirked. “I guess that’s up to you.”

“Well, thanks, I guess. I’m glad I could meet your standards.”

“Well you’re no metaphorical perfect man but,” Dorian gave him very obvious elevator eyes before meeting Nate’s gaze and smiling. “I suppose you’ll do.”

Nate laughed.

***

Nate had grabbed his hand the moment they left the restaurant, which probably would’ve been more distracting for Dorian, if his focus hadn’t been on the chill of the wind and the goose-bumps that were spreading across any exposed skin. He really should’ve brought a jacket. Or a  cape . Or a blanket. Or literally anything but a dress shirt and his hat. 

Nate’s hand was warm in Dorian’s, though, and perhaps that made the cold worth it.

They were already halfway to Dorian’s apartment by the time Nate noticed. He stopped, halfway through telling a story about one of his first cases, and stopped walking, too.

“You’re shivering,” he said. “Are you cold?”

Dorian shrugged. “I’m fine.”

Nate paused for a moment, before he dropped Dorian’s hand.

Dorian would never admit to the disappointment he felt in that moment, but then it was overtaken by realisation as he watched Nate begin to take off his jacket.

“Oh- no, you don’t have to do that-” he began, as Nate held out the jacket to him.

“Nope. I’m doing it.”

“You’ll get cold.”

“I’m not taking no for an answer.”

Nate grinned, and Dorian rolled his eyes. Somewhat reluctantly, he reached out and took the jacket, putting it on, and finding it surprisingly comfortable and smelling faintly of Nate’s cologne, which was a bonus. It was big on him, as Dorian was quite a bit shorter than Nate. But that was hardly a drawback.

“You’re quite the gentleman,” Dorian said dryly, absent-mindedly taking Nate’s hand and holding it again.

Nate glanced down at their joined hands. Then, he looked back up at Dorian and gave him a much softer smile that made Dorian’s face warm. He was grateful for the fact that it was  night-time , as he hoped the darkness hid his blush.

“ So. .. you were telling me about your old case?”

“Right,” Nate said, nodding.

He then squeezed Dorian’s hand as he started to walk again, gently tugging him along, and for a moment Dorian was so distracted that he couldn’t focus on the words Nate was saying. He almost tripped over his own feet, but managed to stumble forward before catching up and walking alongside his date.

The remainder of the  walk to Dorian’s apartment went by in a flash. He supposed that time really did fly when you’re having fun.

They stopped just outside his door, and Dorian somewhat reluctantly dropped Nate’s hand.

“So,” Nate said casually. “That was fun.”

In lieu of responding to that, Dorian blurted out:

“Can I kiss you?”

Nate’s eyes widened, his lips parting slightly in surprise, and Dorian was suddenly very, very pleased with the flustered expression on the other man’s face. He nodded quickly, and Dorian wasted no time in wrapping his arms around Nate’s neck – standing up on his tiptoes – and kissing him, his eyes fluttering closed.

He had enough time to note how his lips were warm when one of Nate’s hands landed on his waist. And then it was suddenly very hard to think of anything but  _ him _ .

After a moment, Dorian pulled back slightly, but Nate chased his lips and resumed the kiss. Dorian couldn’t complain, though, and very eagerly continued to kiss him.

When they pulled apart, Nate was smiling against him, and Dorian couldn’t help but smile back.

“Are you standing on your tiptoes?”

Dorian pulled back just enough to scowl at him. “I am not.”

Nate glanced down between them, and then glanced back up, his grin widening.

“You  _ are _ . It’s cute.”

“You know, if you keep making fun of me, I’m never going to kiss you again.”

The moment Dorian finished saying that, he leant forward and kissed Nate again. It didn’t last too long, as though Nate enthusiastically kissed back, he started chuckling halfway through, so Dorian ended up pulling back to glare at him.

Nate full-on laughed at that. He almost made a comment on it, but when Dorian gave him a warning look – a little ruined by the twitch of his lips that indicated that he was almost smiling – he wisely didn’t speak.

He also  _ couldn’t  _ speak, as Dorian almost immediately kissed him again.

“I pick the next date,” Dorian said, when they pulled apart. He finally removed his arms from around Nate’s neck and took a step back.

Nate’s eyes lit up at the suggestion, and Dorian instantly wanted to kiss him again.

“Next date?”

“Are you saying you don’t want one?”

“Course not, I’m just surprised. I’m usually the one who asks,” Nate teased.

Dorian rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah.” He paused for a moment. “I’d invite you inside for a drink, but I’m pretty sure my brothers are still here, and that would suck.”

Nate laughed. “They can’t be that bad.”

“They really,  _ really  _ can.”

“Ah, well. I guess this is goodbye, then.”

“Yeah...”

There was a beat of silence – not quite awkward, but neither of them really knew what to say. Then Dorian glanced down at himself and suddenly remembered that he was still wearing Nate’s jacket.

“Oh,” he said, starting to take it off. “I almost forgot about this.”

“Right,” Nate nodded, watching Dorian intently. He grinned. “I think it looks better on you, anyway.”

Dorian held out the jacket to Nate, giving him an incredibly unimpressed look.

“Shut up,” he said.

Nate’s grin widened as he took his jacket and slipped it back on. “Make me.”

Dorian scoffed. “That won’t work on me.”

Nate didn’t say anything else, just continued to grin at him. 

A second passed. Then another. Then another. Then another.

Then, Dorian groaned. He leant forward – standing up on his tiptoes – and quickly pecked Nate on the lips. When he pulled back, Nate’s expression had turned very, very smug, and Dorian did his best to scowl.

“Stop that,” he said. “Don’t be smug. I don’t  _ have  _ to kiss you.”

“Whatever you say, babe.”

Dorian rolled his eyes, and opened his mouth to tell him to shut up again, but stopped when he saw the expression on Nate’s face. He closed his mouth again, and tried to glare at him, but was unsuccessful as he was also trying not to smile.

“One last kiss before I go?” Nate asked.

Dorian blinked, like he hadn’t expected Nate to ask that. He nodded, and Nate took another step forward, gently cupping Dorian’s cheek with one hand and kissing him very, very gently. 

Dorian’s heart did a funny little tremor in his chest when Nate’s lips met his.

The kiss ended too soon, however, and Dorian felt a shock of disappointment pass through him when Nate pulled away. He only just managed to keep himself from chasing the kiss.

“See you at work?” Nate said.

Dorian was a little disappointed by the end of the date – and the butterflies in his stomach and happy feeling in his heart remained ever-present, and kept his mood from really souring. He smiled slightly back at Nate and nodded.

“Yeah, see you.”


	14. Chapter Thirteen

If someone were to ask Thomas how his life was going, he would lie. Not because he didn’t have a great life! But just... there were so many aspects of it that he couldn’t share, that at this point it’s almost second nature to lie about what’s going on with him. 

Even to his brothers, really. He knew – intellectually – that he could always rely on them if he really needed to. But... well, he also  _ couldn’t _ , in some ways. Their dads had left and their uncles hadn’t known them well enough at the time, so someone had had to step up and be the parent. And even with them all grown up, Thomas still often found himself being that parent.

(Emile tried, too, but Thomas was the oldest. He was the one they all looked up to.)

And as if that weren’t enough, having his uncle teach him everything he needed to be the  _ next  _ next head of the family business sapped half of his time. The other half being sapped away by his professional YouTube channel, which was a somewhat new development, honestly. It started with making dumb Vines  as a way to blow off steam and it rocketed him into social media fame, a change of platforms, and a couple of scripted and unscripted series. 

And Thomas was  _ tired _ . He was so tired. Going and going and going non-stop like this was taking  its toll. 

So, when he woke up with his keyboard all but plastered to his face, he wasn’t exactly surprised. 

He pushed himself up off his desk and stretched up a bit with a groan. Massaging his  forehead a bit, he looked over and grabbed his phone. Two texts from Dorian, one from each of the twins and a missed call from Uncle Hart. Oh, and the sun had come up since he’d started working on this script. That was probably important. 

With another soft sigh, Thomas rose and crossed into the kitchen of his small apartment. He set the coffee maker to start and sat back to answer his texts while it brewed. It was just starting to pour into the pot when he dialed to call his uncle back.

He picked up after only two rings, and Thomas could hear the distant sound of Peter and Missy whaling on someone in the background. 

_ “Hello?” _

“Hey, Uncle Hart,” Thomas said, smiling even though his uncle couldn’t see him. “Sorry, I was asleep and didn’t hear my phone. What’s up?”

_ “Oh, I was just calling to check in with you!” _ He replied.  _ “Making sure we had things ironed out. You’ve  _ _ got _ _ the Dale deal, right?” _

Thomas hummed the affirmative. “Yeah. I can get him taken care of. What’s he owe, again?”

_ “Two kidneys and a liver. And if they don’t turn up by Sunday, you take them out of him, okay? He’s not family, just some shmuck who thinks he can go toe to toe with us.” _

“Right, right.” Thomas grabbed his coffee and started pouring cream and sugar into it. “Is it Ricky Dale or Martin?”

_ “Martin. Ricky is the one that hit Peter.” _

“Riiiiight. He’s already been disposed of, then.”

_ “Naturally.” _

Thomas hummed a little again. “Well... I’m a bit busy today, but I can stop by and visit him this evening, probably.”

_ “That’d be fantastic. Thank you, kiddo!”  _

(Thomas didn’t react to the use of the word kiddo, not anymore.)

“Hey, whatever helps, right?” Thomas paused, realizing something. “...Shit.”

He thunked his head against the counter. 

_ “What, what’s wrong?” _ Uncle Hart exclaimed.

“I just poured salt in my coffee.” Thomas moaned. 

_ “Oh,” h _ is uncle chuckled.  _ “Is that all? ...Hang on, how come you’re drinking coffee at two in the afternoon?” _

Thomas pulled away his phone to check the time before putting it back against his ear. “...Donald Duck levels of luck?”

He heard his uncle sigh on the other end. “Yeah... that’ll do it. Hey, I  gotta go, kiddo. We still on for brunch this  Saturday ?”

“Yeah,” Thomas said. “Assuming I’m awake for that.”

They both laughed, said their goodbyes, and hung up. Without the chatter of someone else’s voice Thomas felt... almost cold. In a warm way. 

...No, that didn’t make sense.

He wasn’t really a poet anyway. Just a guy. Alone in his apartment with salty coffee.

He sighed a bit and pushed off the counter. Remy was probably still at work so he should be able to swing by and grab one of his specialties. ...Maybe he could grab one for Dorian, too, and drop by the precinct. His birthday was coming up in a few months and Thomas wanted to get a scope of who would and wouldn’t be acceptable to invite to a party for his babiest brother. 

Alright then. There was a plan. 

Thomas stretched and stuffed his phone in his pocket before heading out. 

***

Entering a building with two coffees in hand was not easy, Thomas found. Luckily enough people took pity on him and opened doors and pushed elevator buttons for him. So, now he was faced with just one last problem. 

The place Dorian worked was, for some reason, blocked from the elevator by a small metal gate. A gate he had no idea how to open...

He heard a snort to his left and saw someone in an orange beanie walk over.

“You good, bro?” They asked.

“Yeah, I just...” Thomas gestured at the gate with one of the coffees. “I’m struggling today.”

“You’re Dorian’s brother, right? Uh... jeez, I’m bad at names.”

Thomas chuckled. “Well, that’s a mood. Don’t worry about it, it’s Thomas. And you’re... Joan, right?”

They bowed jokingly. “In the flesh. You want some help?”

“Oh, please.”

They  opened up the gate and let Thomas step inside. “Did Dorian know you were coming?”

Thomas shook his head. “It’s something of a surprise visit. Just wanted to drop in.”

Joan winced. “Oof. That explains how you just missed him. He and Nate have a case across town.”

Thomas felt his shoulders slump a little. “Oh. Whoops, ha-ha.”

Joan reached out and pat his shoulder kindly. “Hey, it’s alright. ...You okay?”

Thomas smiled tightly and nodded. “Yeah. Just a bit of a long day.”

More of a long life, but he somehow felt that was too much for a person he barely knew. Joan frowned sympathetically anyway and patted his shoulder again. 

“...Well, if Dorian’s gone can I have his coffee?” They asked half-jokingly. “I pulled an all-nighter last night- er .”

Thomas snorted and passed it to them. “Just be warned: I don’t know what’s in it, so I hope you don’t have any allergies.”

Joan raised their eyebrows as they accepted the cup. “You don’t? Why?”

“Our brother, Remy, is the manager of a coffeeshop a  ways from here and we let him experiment on us,” Thomas shrugged. “Dorian more than the rest of us. I’ll do it from time to time but  Dor doesn’t really care as long as it’s caffeinated. The best I can tell you is that it’s coffee.”

Joan snorted and took a sip. “...Not too bad. A little... salty? Which is unexpected, but not too bad. So! Brother in a coffeeshop, and obviously I know what Dorian does, but how do you spend your time?”

Thomas laughed nervously. “Well... I guess I earn my living making YouTube videos, but I’m only a little internet-famous, nothing really big.”

Joan’s eyebrows shot up. “No way! Dude that’s so cool!”

“You think?” Thomas asked. “Most people think it’s a little... lame.”

“Nah, that’s awesome! What  kinda stuff do you make?”

“Well...”

***

Thomas spent the next hour and a half just talking to Joan. It was...  really nice . Nice to just be able to talk to someone for a bit. No expectations. Just a chat. 

“You did not!” Joan exclaimed. 

Thomas laughed. “I did!”

Joan laughed so hard they almost fell out of their chair. “Hahaha-holy  _ shit _ ! I can’t believe you basically twerked for a dumb firefly joke!”

“In hindsight, it wasn’t my best-”

_ “Was that a pun?” _

_ “Not on purpose!”  _

Now, they were both laughing. And it felt...  _ nice!  _

“What are you doing?” A voice  interrupted suddenly.

Thomas turned to see Dorian standing there, new boyfriend just behind him and eyebrow arched as elegantly as ever.

“Hey, Dee!” Thomas said cheerfully. “I was just chilling with Joan here. They’re actually pretty cool.”

“You say that like it’s a surprise!” Joan laughed. “What, does DeeDee spread nasty rumors about me at home?”

“And I will spread nastier ones if you call me that again,” Dorian threatened.

Nate grinned behind him and dropped his head onto Dorian’s shoulder. “Can  _ I _ call you DeeDee?”

_ “Absolutely not!” _

Thomas snorted and rose to his feet. “Well, it seems like I’ve caused enough trouble here. Thanks for the chat, Joan.”

“No problem! Thanks for the much-needed break and coffee,” they smiled. “Feel like swinging by Thursday, too?”

Thomas’ face broke into a wide grin. “I think I can manage that. See you then!”

“See you then!”

Thomas left, feeling warmer than he had all day. ...He was pretty sure this is what friendship felt like.


	15. Chapter Fourteen

Usually, when Emile had a cartoon movie marathon, he spent the whole time completely focused on the cartoon – enraptured by the characters and the plot, even if he’d seen it all a million times before – utterly unable to be distracted by anything else. Cartoons were one of his favourite things in the whole world, and watching and re-watching and re-watching them consumed a large portion of his time.

But tonight... tonight was different.

Tonight, it was difficult to concentrate on the brightly-coloured movie on TV, as there was an arm around Emile’s shoulders and another body pressed against his side.

The glow from the TV illuminated Toby’s face and Emile could not stop staring at him. He’d somehow gotten even  handsomer than when they were teenagers.  The sounds of Toby’s breathing seemed louder than the talking and the singing of the movie, and it was impossible to think of anything else.

Perhaps that was a little creepy, but Emile was still half convinced that this was all just one long, incredibly good dream. He was worried that if he focused on anything else, Toby would just fade into the background, never to be seen again.

Maybe they were moving faster than they should’ve been, but Emile was just so excited, and he’d never gotten over Toby, even in their many years apart. Toby seemed to feel the exact same way.

Toby glanced away from the screen, his eyes landing on Emile’s face, his expression turning concerned.

“Is everything okay?” He asked softly.

Emile nodded quickly. “I’m fine,” he whispered back.

Toby gave him a small smile. He then paused for a moment, apparently thinking something over, before he leant in and pressed a quick, soft kiss to Emile’s forehead.

Emile’s heart skipped a beat in his chest and  he  practically melted on the spot.

He would never, ever get used to that, though he really hoped he’d get the opportunity to. Emile could spend the rest of his life in Toby’s arms and he’d never tire of it.

Emile smiled, before reaching up and kissing Toby’s cheek, just above the jawline.

“I’m missed you,” he mumbled. “So,  _ so  _ much.”

Toby’s expression softened – which should’ve been impossible, as it had already been incredibly soft, before. He reached up and cradled Emile’s cheek with his hand, his thumb brushing gently over his skin. Emile leant into the touch.

“Yeah, I missed you, too.”

There was a beat.

“I thought about you basically every day,” Emile continued. “But I never thought- I never... I hoped, but I never thought I’d ever see you again.”

His hand bunched up the fabric of Toby’s t-shirt. He swallowed as tears began to prick the corners of his eyes. Happy tears, mostly. It was all just getting a tad overwhelming, and Emile hadn’t really let himself cry about it, yet.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Toby said softly.

Emile swallowed, looking down at his lap. “Sorry, I- I shouldn’t cry. It’s just a lot.”

“You can cry. If you need to cry, you can cry. It’s okay.”

That was just a little too much for Emile, so when Toby opened his arms, he immediately buried his face in the other man’s chest. He ended up half in Toby’s lap, which perhaps w ould have embarrassed him slightly, but it was Toby and Toby was oh-so sweet, whispering kind words as he rubbed reassuring circles into Emile’s back. He wasn’t quite sobbing, but he was crying and undeniably shaking, from a mix of emotions that were mostly undeniably positive, but  overall, quite overwhelming.

The movie continued, colourful cartoon characters talking and arguing in the background as Emile and Toby stayed like that for a while.

Emile eventually pulled away, scrubbing at his eyes with his sleeves.

“I’m sorry,” he apologised hurriedly. “I don’t- I don’t usually cry on first dates.” He paused for a moment, his brow scrunching up in thought. “Does this... count... as a first date? I mean- this is a date, right?”

Toby laughed quietly. “Yeah, uh... I’m pretty sure it is. I mean, this would be pretty awkward if it wasn’t a date.”

“Just a bit,” Emile giggled, covering his mouth with his hand. “Um, and... I know we had that almost-date years ago, but I think this is our first proper date.”

“And hopefully not our last.”

Emile smiled. “Yeah,” he said softly. “Hopefully.” He paused. “Sorry for crying on you, by the way. I don’t usually do that.”

Toby huffed out a quiet laugh, reaching out and tucking a stray strand of hair behind Emile’s ear, cradling his face carefully.

“It’s alright,” he said. “I don’t mind. I mean, I don’t like to see you cry, but it’s no trouble.”

“They’re not sad tears, I promise. Just... overwhelmed ones. Happy ones.”

“Yeah, I get that.”

Emile turned his head and glanced at the TV still playing, raising his eyebrows in surprise when he noticed that the credits were rolling. The movie was already over, and Emile had hardly paid any attention to a single scene. Toby followed his gaze.

“Huh,” Emile said. “Time flies. I don’t think I was actually watching most of that.”

Toby snorted. “Neither. Maybe we can  re-watch it another time?”

“I’d like that.”

“What do you  wanna do now?”

“Hmm... well, I think it’s your turn to pick the movie.”

***

Remy hummed as he made his way towards Emile’s apartment. He knew that his brother and his best friend were on a date, right now, but he also knew that neither of them would likely mind him being there. And Remy was getting bored, he had nothing else to do outside of roaming around for someone to take to bed, which he wasn’t really in the mood for.

When he arrived at the door, he briefly considered picking the lock and getting in that way, but that was time consuming and risky, so he just used the key Emile had given him. 

“Hey, you guys are decent, right?” He called out jokingly as he opened the door and stepped inside.

He was almost immediately greeted by the sight of Emile and Toby curled up on the couch together, fast asleep. Emile was half in Toby’s lap and there was a blanket on the floor in front of them, that had likely been covering them, but had fallen off. They looked... peaceful, in a way Remy hadn’t often seen his brother, not for quite a few years. The TV was still playing, halfway through a movie that Remy didn’t recognise.

Remy sighed.

He pocketed the key and then walked over to the pair on the couch. He crouched down and picked up the blanket, shaking it a few times as he stood up to get off any stray pieces of popcorn, before draping it over Emile and Toby. Then, he walked over to the coffee table and picked up the remote, switching off the TV and then quietly put it back down.

He switched off the lamp, filling the whole room with darkness, and paused for a moment as he listened to Emile stir. He didn’t seem to awaken, though, so Remy moved on.

Remy couldn’t be bothered to make his way back to his own place, so he might as well crash in Emile’s bed. 


	16. Chapter Fifteen

“What’s the special occasion?” 

“Can’t a guy just take his beautiful boyfriend out for a nice lunch?” 

Dorian gave Nate a flat look and the taller sighed. It was a playful sigh, not irritated just playfully pretending to be – and Nate was smiling slightly, too, which almost ruined the effect. It made the corners of Dorian’s lips twitch upwards.

After almost a minute, Nate finally caved in. “Well, I just realized that we never really celebrated closing the Jesters case.”

Dorian rolled his eyes. “We  _ literally  _ went to a diner that night.”

“Yeah, but that was more a calming you down thing than it was a celebration,” Nate said. “So, I wanted to take you out and commemorate being the best cops on the force.”

“We got lucky,” Dorian snorted. “If they weren’t so obsessed with my family, we may not have figured it out so quickly.”

“But we did! Which makes us the best, because it makes us smart and we’re already the hottest so therefore we’re the best!” 

Dorian laughed a little at that. “Well... as long as you’re paying for this lunch.”

Nate held a hand up to his chest,  feigning offense. “Of course!”

“Then I don’t mind it, I guess.”

Nate smiled, making butterflies flutter in Dorian’s stomach. He wondered if Nate knew the  effect he had on him. Sometimes he was pretty certain he did and used it to his advantage, but other times it seemed like Nate was surprised Dorian had even looked in his direction. Dorian wasn’t certain if he just wasn’t being affectionate enough or if it was a Nate thing.

(Ha. Affection-nate. Emile would be proud.)

Dorian shook his head lightly and reached over to take Nate’s hand in his own. Nate’s eyebrows raised and a delighted smile grew on his face as he squeezed Dorian’s hand lightly. Dorian squeezed back.

“So, since we’re reminiscing,” Dorian said. “What was your favorite part of the case?”

Nate laughed. “You mean besides the end of it where you let me take you out?”

Dorian rolled his eyes fondly. “Yes,  you dumbass.”

“Do people even have favorite parts of cases?”

“I think we’re allowed.”

Nate hummed. “I guess... interrogating those people was  kinda fun. Not ' cos I like giving them a hard time, but I liked that one person where we were able to do good cop and bad cop.”

“I do make a good bad cop,” Dorian chuckled. “...We ought to switch it up sometime.”

Nate grinned. “Hell yeah. So, how about you? What was your favorite part of it?”

Dorian thought a moment. “Catching them, if that’s not cliché. I just... can I admit something weird?”

Nate shrugged and gestured for him to keep going. 

Dorian took a deep breath. “...I hate the copycat gangs – and not because they’re killing people, though obviously that’s awful or whatever. It’s just... it’s like they’re trivializing it. Or turning becoming serial killers into a fashion trend. The Jesters were obsessive and weird, yeah, but so many more of them are just doing it 'cos they think it was cool when... when...” He swallowed, throat suddenly feeling thick. “...I just hate them.”

Nate squeezed his hand again and gently rubbed circles into it with his thumb. “I know I can’t begin to understand, but I’m here for you.”

Dorian sent him a quick, grateful smile before turning to look out the window next to them. “I just want them to knock it off.”

“I hear ya.” Nate sighed a little. “It seems like there’s a few more every day. The Court Jesters, the Royal Flush, the Prince’s Brides, the Princess Brides, the Prince’s Grooms, the Crowns – it just keeps growing. Where do they even come up with these names?”

Dorian snorted. “Well... at least the Royal Flush is actually doing what my Papa was theoretically trying to. I guess that doesn’t really excuse them, but I’ve compared the patterns of their kills and it’s pretty much the same.”

Nate tilted his head. “I thought you hated all copycats?”

“I do!” Dorian cursed himself mentally. “I just... I mean I don’t know their reasons, but they seem to be doing it 'cos they think my Papa was right, which I can respect more than obsessively copying him just 'cos he was famous or whatever.”

Nate hummed thoughtfully, watching him closely for a moment, but seemed to accept that answer. “I guess. What was even with those people, right? Like the way they looked at you went  _ way _ beyond just seeing a celebrity type admiration – like this was apocalypse cult level stuff.”

Dorian shivered. “Don’t remind me. It almost makes me wonder what they would have done if they ever saw the man himself.”

Nate’s nose wrinkled. “Ugh. I’m glad we’ll never find out.”

Dorian laughed a little. “Yeah, though it is weird that they never found a ‘Roman’ of their own with almost all the other roles filled.”

Nate shrugged. “Well, it must be hard to find a guy who looks a lot like your Papa and is  obsessed with him and is down with murder and...”

They blinked at one another. 

“...No way.”

“We don’t have any proof.”

“But we can’t just dismiss it.”

“Yeah, but we can’t just arrest him either!”

“Maybe just keep tabs on him?”

“Can we even do that? Like,  _ legally _ ?”

Dorian sighed and chewed on his lip for a minute. “If Pryce is connected to this... then he knew where not to be to avoid arrest, and how to keep the spotlight off of himself. And if he knew that...”

“Then this is bigger than we thought it was,” Nate finished, taking a long, deep breath. “What do we do?”

Dorian ran a hand down his face. “Right now? Nothing. We need evidence that he’s connected before we even can do anything. But we ought to keep as much of an eye on him as we can.” 

Nate nodded a little. Then raised Dorian’s hand to his lips and kissed it gently.

“Okay. I’ll follow your lead, Janus.”

And how on earth was Dorian supposed to not kiss him after that?

***

There were many drawbacks to having been a murderer since you were eleven, but one thing Dorian would never get tired of was racing along the rooftops, all on his lonesome, with the only sounds that of his flapping coattails, his clinking knives, and the rush of the city he’d come to think of as his own. If he paused even for a moment, he’d be greeted with the bright  neon and contrasting pitch black that Brooklyn always seemed drenched in in equal measure. 

He took a deep breath, taking in the fresh air and smog and just let himself  _ be  _ for a moment. In this moment, he just was. He wasn’t Janus Dorian Sanders. He wasn’t the Jack of Diamonds. He was just an entity of Brooklyn. A ghost capable of killing. A poltergeist in his own right. 

He took another deep breath, then went back to running across the rooftops. 

He was a poltergeist. A poltergeist with a target. A certain Liam Issacs. A doctor who’d been committing malpractice, assault, and even assisted suicide, but he raked in the big bucks so no one cared. It was small enough that it didn’t require the entire Royal Flush, and even if it had, Dorian wouldn’t have called them in. 

He wanted to blow off steam, sue him. 

He swung into Dr. Issacs’ bedroom window, face souring as he realized they weren’t alone. Great. This always made things more complicated. 

Gently, he crept over and slid a gloved hand over the young woman’s mouth, then shook her awake. Her eyes fluttered open, only to widen as his appearance clicked in her head. He lifted the hand not over her mouth to his own, holding a finger against his lips. He gestured to Issacs’ with his eyes.

“Not you,” he whispered, soft as a gentle breeze. “Leave as quietly as you can.”

She swallowed and nodded. He delicately removed his hand and waited, watching sharply as she got up and tiptoed out, taking only her phone and a jacket, luckily already clothed in a nightgown. He waited a moment longer, but, though she looked to be afraid, she didn’t seem like she was going to call the police. Likely another of Issacs’ victims, in the past if not tonight. Lovely.

Dorian – or rather:  the Jack – withdrew one of his knives and threw it into the headboard, narrowly missing Liam Issacs’ head and waking the doctor with a start. He whirled around, wide-eyed, and stared at the Jack of all deaths before him. 

Jack clicked his tongue. “This will go a lot faster for both of us if you already know why I’m here.”

Issacs’ shook his head. 

“Really?” Jack asked. “ So, the hundreds of patients whose deaths you’ve aided in don’t ring a  bell? How about the young men and women you’ve let yourself have a good time with against their will? That sound familiar?”

Jack took a sick satisfaction in watching the other man go sheet white. He listened to him stammer explanations for approximately ten seconds, before driving a knife into his left leg: unfortunately splattering his suit with red. 

Issacs howled in pain but Jack paid him no heed, reaching over and pulling out his knife. 

“So, you’re a bit unlucky here, I’m afraid,” He said calmly. “I’m in a bit of a bad mood. Which means that before we can get you over with, I want a confession. And you might want to make it quick. There’s a lot of muscles in the human body that I can sever before you die of blood loss – so much pain, and you’d take so long to die.” He waited a moment, before ordering: “Confess  what you’ve done. Admit you’re guilty.”

Issacs gasped for air, sobbing, and started to stammer that he was innocent. 

“Wrong answer.” Jack drove his knife into the other leg, eliciting another scream. “I can do this all night long. Or I can end your suffering now. Which will it be, Liam?”

The other man panted heavily. “I- I saved lives. I’m a doctor! I didn’t take them. I would never!”

Jack sighed and threw his knife into one of the doctor’s forearms. He ignored the third scream.

“Your past patients would say otherwise. Refusing someone treatment, giving baseless accusations, not listening to very valid concerns, all terrible deeds. Though don’t think I didn’t notice you not denying that you’ve assaulted some of your patients. Nice try, but I need a verbal confirmation to be satisfied.” Jack smirked cruelly. “Try again, Dr. Issacs.”

The doctor took a shaky breath. “Alright, fine. You want to hear it? Fine! I’ve done some bad things. I’ve given into biases and done whatever I want! But doesn’t everyone? It’s a selfish world and only the selfish succeed.”

Jack snarled. “What a horrible creed. People like you are the scum making this world worse. I hope you take that knowledge with you to the grave. Which, by coincidence, is coming for you now.”

Jack withdrew his gun and fired, hardly looking at where he was aiming, mostly because he didn’t really have to. Within the span of a heartbeat, Doctor Liam Issacs fell limp against his sheets: with multiple bleeding stab wounds, and a gunshot perfectly centered in his forehead.

Jack tucked his gun back in the holster and withdrew his specially made Jack of Diamonds card. He dropped it on the way to pick up his knife, letting it flutter into the blood and become stained. It didn’t really matter, just as long as it was face up. So, the police knew this wasn’t the work of any stupid copycats – not that they’d know that The Royal Flush were the real deal.

What he’d told Nate was mostly true. He hated the copycats: hated the way they idolized his fathers and trivialized what he’d gone through. But he also hated their reasons for being killers and their methods for doing it. He didn’t want that sort of thing attached to the names the Royal Court once bore. He didn’t want it attached to his Papa’s legacy. Even if that legacy was so drenched in blood it was practically tie-dyed. 

He removed his knife and wiped it off, then swung back out the way he’d come in. When he reached the roof, he took a moment to rest. The night was peaceful, after all, and he’d done enough to earn a respite. 

He perched himself on the edge and swung his legs over one side, letting his mind momentarily wander. Brooklyn really was beautiful in the dead of night...

The flash of a camera interrupted his thoughts and he whirled to the source. Two levels down, in the apartment building he was  facing , he saw Pryce in a window, lowering a large, professional-grade camera. 

“The brooding look is good for you!” He called cheerfully, utterly without fear. “As is the blood. Hey, how fresh is that, I  wanna know how to get it that red.”

Jack whipped out his gun and fired. Hitting the camera right through the lens, and only just missing his spectator.

Pryce didn’t even flinch, but he did frown. “Aw, come on, man. This was pricey.”

“Don’t take pictures of people with every capability of killing you,” Jack growled, pitching his voice low. 

Pryce’s eerie smile returned, looking up at Jack as fondly as if they were long lost friends. 

“But then what am I supposed to put in the scrapbook?”

Before Jack could react, or stop the sensation of his skin crawling, Pryce waved goodbye and closed the window, leaving Dorian with the faintest impression that he was about to run headlong into a glacier of ice. 

Cold and foreboding...


	17. Chapter Sixteen

Remy flopped onto the couch, throwing his arm around Toby’s shoulders and leaning heavily against his side. He caught a quick glimpse of a text conversation between Toby and Emile – full of colourful heart emojis from both sides, though mostly from Emile – before Toby switched his phone off, pocketing it.

Toby turned to him, and Remy grinned.

“You and Emile still going strong?” He asked.

Toby gave him an amused look. “Yeah, we’re doing well. Hasn’t Emile been talking to you about it, too?”

“Course he has, but I  gotta hear about it from my best bro, too,” Remy playfully nudged Toby’s side with his elbow. “C’mon,  gimme all the  deets .”

Toby laughed, leaning back against the couch cushions. “There aren’t many details to give, honestly,” he said. “It’s still pretty new.” He then paused for a moment, looking like he was trying to say something, before he closed his mouth again.

His brow remained scrunched up, and Remy raised an eyebrow at him.

“What’s up?”

“I just... do you think we’re moving too fast?”

Remy straightened up. “Do you?”

“I mean, no... but-”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“Does  _ he  _ think we’re moving too fast?”

Remy scoffed. “It’s  Em . He’s totally smitten with you, it’s almost gross.”

“He is?”

“Uh,  _ duh _ ,” Remy said, in an obvious tone of voice, like Toby was an idiot. He rolled his eyes. “He’s been crazy for you for years. It never faded. First love’s like that, I guess – that’s what I’ve heard, anyway.  Em’s the relationship expert, talk to him.” Toby opened his mouth to respond, but Remy interrupted him, pointing at him aggressively. “Do  _ not  _ go back to the dumbass teenagers who took a million years to get together. I swear, I will kill you.”

Toby laughed. “Yeah, yeah. I get it.”

“Just talk to him, oh my god. Communication is key, or whatever. That’s what Emile always says. I don’t know. I’m not big on relationships.”

“Really?”

“Nah.” Remy leant back against the couch cushions. “My relationships only ever last a night. I prefer it that way.”

Toby hummed. “Fair enough,” he said. He then paused for a moment, before continuing. “So, you haven’t had  _ any  _ long-term datemates, then?”

Remy shook his head. “No one’s ever stuck around. Most people are  kinda ... wary about the Sanders family. One-night stands and hooking up are one thing, but long-term relationships are another. It’s fine, though. I don’t care.”

“Huh.”

A few moments of silence passed – a little awkward, but not by much. 

Remy cleared his throat, sitting up straighter. “So,” he said, clapping his hands together. “What have you been doing these past few years? Come on, you haven’t really caught me up yet. I’ve  gotta know.”

“Okay, well... I moved around a lot. Switched schools often – never really stuck around long enough to make any proper friends. People...” Toby sighed. “They kept finding out about me knowing you guys and... that never went well. So, I had to keep moving.”

“Oof, that’s- well, that happened to us, too,” Remy let out a short, almost humourless laugh. “Guess you really were part of the family.”

Toby snorted. “Guess so.”

“Yeah, well...” Remy trailed off. “How are your dads?”

Toby pulled a face, and Remy immediately knew that that was the wrong thing to ask. He paused for a moment, thinking about it, before opening his mouth and continuing to speak.

“We’re not as close as we used to be,” Toby admitted. “It’s... being made to move really upset me, I guess, so... I got mad. I didn’t talk to them much and it never really got better. They’re still  my dads and I still love them, I just don’t talk to them much anymore – I call them occasionally, but that’s about it.”

“Yikes. That’s not fun.”

“No, it’s really not,” Toby sighed. He paused. “How about you? How are your dads?”

He seemed to ask that before he really remembered, and when Remy snorted, he shot him an apologetic look.

“I, uh... well, we haven’t seen them in a while,” Remy half-laughed. “But, uh, I think they’re doing fine – or so I’ve heard. We don’t talk to them, but...”

He trailed off, and Toby nodded slowly. “Right. Right. That- that can’t be easy.”

Remy shrugged. “Eh, not really. But it’s - it’s whatever.”

***

“Right,” Thomas said, sitting down at the table, between Remy and Dorian. “We need to talk about what to do with Pryce.”

Remy scoffed. “What’s there to talk about? Let’s just kill him.”

“Don’t be a dumbass,” Dorian said, his arms crossed. “He might have blackmail – stuff that’ll get out if he dies. We can’t risk that.”

“Don’t call me dumbass, dumbass.”

Before Remy and Dorian could continue into a proper argument Emile sat down between them, opposite Thomas. He held out his hands, and both his brothers reluctantly leant back without protest.

“Dorian’s right,” Emile said, and Thomas nodded. “We don’t know what Pryce knows. We need to find out more information, then we can plan our next move.”

“We need to gather evidence,” Dorian said.

Remy laughed. “Ha! Gather evidence?  So you and your cop boyfriend can, what, arrest him?”

Dorian glared at him.

“Hey, now,” Thomas interrupted. “Calm down, both of you. We’ll figure out what to do with Pryce after we know more about him.”

“Come on!” Remy exclaimed. “What’s the point? Just lemme slit his throat or something.”

“Were you even listening?” Dorian snapped. “Don’t be stupid.”

“I’m not stupid, I’m a genius! If we kill the guy, we’ll have nothing else to worry about. I’ll do it, in fact,  _ please  _ let me do it. I  wanna kill that asshole, and I  wanna make it hurt.”

Dorian tried to continue arguing, but Thomas interrupted him before he could.

“We all do,” Thomas reassured Remy. “But that’s not a good idea, not yet. Like Dorian said, he might have blackmail. If we kill him, it could get out and we’d be in big trouble. We don’t know what he knows, so we need to be careful.” He turned to Dorian. “Gathering evidence sounds like am good idea.”

Dorian shot Remy a smug look, and Remy stuck his tongue out at him.

Dorian rolled his eyes. “Real mature.”

“So, what’s the plan?” Emile said, getting back on track.

“We tail him,” Dorian said. “We find information both through the criminal route and the police route. Nate could be a real help here.”

Remy laughed. “Aw, you really need your boyfriend’s help, huh?” He teased.

“You’re just jealous that you can’t get a boyfriend.”

“Ha! Oh, please, I can get all the sex I want. What do I need a boyfriend for?”

Emile held a hand up. “We don’t need to know about that, Rem.”

“Right, right. Sorry,” Remy said. He paused for a moment, before huffing and continued. “Can we really not kill the guy?” He whined. “I hate him. He acts too much like papa and it’s freaky. He almost looks like a younger version of him, too, it’s creepy.”

“I think it’s his smile, mostly,” Emile said. “It’s so... precise. He’s trying so hard to look and sound like him. Why would he do that?”

Thomas shrugged. “Papa’s famous. Every famous person has their share of creepy fans.”

Remy huffed. “Well, I hate him. Once we’ve figured him out, I’ve got dibs on killing him?”

“Oh, come on,” Dorian said, uncrossing his arms. “You’ve  gotta let me help you out with that. I want him dead just as much as you do.”

“We all want him dead,” Thomas said diplomatically. “And when the time  comes, we’ll see who gets to off him.”

“...And we’re sure it’s definitely not Papa, right?” Emile tried to joke, attempting to lighten the mood. 

The others gave him incredulous looks.

_ “Definitely not!” _

“He’s way too young!”

“Why would  _ Papa  _ stalk __ us?”

“Okay. okay!” Emile held up his hands in surrender. “Sorry. It was just a joke! ...I just miss him.”

Thomas rubbed the back of his neck with a soft sigh. He crossed to Emile and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. 

“...We all do. There’s not a day where we don’t miss all of them. But there’s no way Pryce is Papa, even if they have some weird similarities; it just isn’t the case. And now he’s out there probably screwing some stuff up so we have to take him out as efficiently as possible.”

Emile took a deep breath and nodded. “Right.”

“Hey,” Thomas smiled softly when Emile looked up at him. “We’ll see them again one day.”

Emile smiled back fleetingly. “Yeah. ...I hope so. I really hope so.”

“...You think they’d be proud of us?” Dorian asked, soft and sudden as a spring rainstorm.

Thomas looked over at him and took another deep, soft sigh. “...I like to think they would be. Uncle Hart sure is. ...But I don’t know for sure. All I know is that I’m proud of you guys, and that ought to count for something, right?”

The younger three cracked a few smiles at that and let Thomas pull them into a group hug. A family  hug . 

...It was a smaller hug than they used to have, little and broken. But still good.

Yeah. 

Still good.


	18. Chapter Seventeen

It felt like only yesterday that the snow had begun to fall, dusting everything around them like a giant powdered doughnut. Between all that had happened since winter had begun, Dorian had kind of forgotten to pay attention to the passage of time. He’d just been busy! Life had gotten away from him, and after all the winter holiday parties, it was hard to keep track, anyway. Especially if you only attended most of those parties because your obnoxious boyfriend wanted an excuse to spend time with and kiss you. 

So, when he got an email from Emile, he didn’t think critically about clicking on it. Sending the ‘happy birthday’ song blasting through the bullpen before he so much as registered what the subject line was. 

He shut it as quickly as he could but, knowing the damage was done, dropped his head onto his desk with a groan. He heard Nate shift over to look at him. 

“Who was that from?” He asked. 

Dorian groaned again. “My brother.” 

“Oh! Is it your birthday?” 

“No.” Dorian peeled his face off the desk. “My birthday is at the end of the week. What you just heard was Emile formally e-viting me to my own party.” 

Nate snickered. “You’re not much of a party guy.” 

“I am not.” 

“What’s a Sanders party entail, anyway?” Peralta, one of their co-workers piped up, informing Dorian that the whole precinct probably heard. 

“Not much,” Dorian said. “We pretty much just hang out together and play board games and stuff. We added alcohol to that when I turned twenty-one – Remy wanted to include it earlier, but Emile and Thomas stopped him – but we’ll nix it if our baby cousins will be there, which depends on the commute.” 

“There’s someone in your family smaller than you?” Detective Rosa joked. 

“Har har.” Dorian swatted a hand in her direction, though she was too far away to reach. “But it’s usually a small affair. Even the extended family only adds four people – two uncles, two cousins. I like things quiet.” 

“How old are you turning?” Joan called. 

“Three!” Dorian yelled back factitiously, in a sarcastic tone of voice. 

Joan cackled loudly and Dorian tuned them out to try and figure out why Nate’s eyebrow was climbing over his sunglasses at something on his computer screen. 

“...Babe?” 

Nate looked over at him. “Yeah?” 

“You good?” 

“Yeah.” 

“...You sure?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Okay...” 

“Hey, out of curiosity, what’s Emile’s email address?” 

Dorian raised an eyebrow. “Um... his personal one is stevenstan93, but his office one is emiles.smiledoctor. Why?” 

“Cause stevenstan93 just sent me a virtual invite and I’m kinda curious how he got my email.” 

Dorian felt his face go pale, but he forced a laugh. “Well... he has his ways, I guess. I was going to invite you anyway so that’s fine, you’re my boyfriend, it’s not like-” 

“Oh, is that what that was?” Amy said across the room. “I filed it in spam, but I got one, too!” 

“Oh, me too!” Joan said. 

“And me,” Tayln added. 

“I think I got one too, but I haven’t looked yet,” Rosa said. 

“Well, I didn’t!” Peralta said, offended. 

“Have you actually looked at your email today?” Amy asked him. 

“...Well, no, but-” 

Dorian groaned again, loudly. Emile. Patron saint of playing referee... had invited all of Dorian’s coworkers to his twenty sixth birthday party. 

He hoped his uncles and cousins weren’t going, because he was going to need some scotch that night. 

*** 

Dorian did not plan his own birthday parties. Something about not having the men who raised him present had spoiled the event for him the first few years. Eventually, Emile got fed up with all of them and declared that he was in charge of all their birthdays now, taking it upon himself to force them to celebrate. Normally, it was pretty good: stuff they’d like, lowkey or wild celebrations depending on the person and the mood. That was why Dorian’s birthday was usually just the four of them. He liked it that way. 

Which was why he found himself toe-to-toe with his third eldest brother, about to wring his neck to acquire the answer as to why on God’s green earth he’d felt the need to invite more people than just their extended family of Floridians. Emile had simply shrugged. 

“You need to talk to more people,” he said calmly. 

“I talk to them all I want!” Dorian exclaimed. 

“Yeah, but it’s not great for your mental health to have so many walls up. You’ve gotta lower some of them before they suffocate you.” 

Dorian snarled at him. “I like my walls exactly where they are, thank you! Everyone in their little box in my life. Everyone has a place.” 

“Compartmentalizing isn’t really-” 

“Don’t shrink me!” Dorian snapped. 

Emile held up his hands, surrendering. “Okay, okay. I’m still not uninviting them, though. I think it’ll be good for you!” 

Dorian crossed his arms, definitely-not-sulking-or-pouting. “...Fine. But I’m hanging out with Nate and Nate only. Just in the same room as other people.” 

“I can agree to those terms and conditions.” Emile smiled slightly. 

Dorian rolled his eyes. “And there had better be drinks.” 

“Of course!” 

“And I won’t be the one to monitor Remy’s intake.” 

“I was gonna be the designated driver anyway,” Emile said amicably. “Oh, which reminds me. Do you mind if Toby tags along as my plus one?” 

“If he can fit into my apartment when it’s crowded like this,” Dorian grumbled. “Why don’t we just invite all of Brooklyn while we’re at it?” 

“Oh, don’t be silly,” Emile patted his cheek fondly. “We don’t know all of Brooklyn!” 

*** 

Apartments felt smaller with lots of people in them, Dorian noticed. With all his co-workers and his brothers crammed into one space, it felt like there was less of that space to go around. 

Dorian had made good on his threat to only hang out with Nate, too. The two of them were crammed on Dorian’s tan pleather sofa, drinks in hand, with Dorian leaning against Nate while leaving only enough space for his heaven-or-hell-sent boyfriend to gently run his fingers through his foot-length hair. 

His bowler hat was hanging by the door. That was just its place. It totally wasn’t a strategic move to tempt Nate into doing exactly what he was doing. Totally. 

Whether that was believable or not, Dorian was enjoying the party despite himself. Everyone had opened up a little, but largely left him to his own devices. They’d had cake, gotten destroyed by the Captain in Monopoly, which they got vengeance for when Dorian and his brothers destroyed everyone else at a game called ‘Exploding Kittens,’ and now everyone was just... talking. It was nice. 

A lot nicer than Dorian had expected. 

Which he was not going to share with Emile. Ever. It was Sanders Law not to give someone the power to say ‘I told you so,’ with only one exception. It’s a matter of pride. 

Dorian scanned the party, catching sight of Emile just in time to see him clap a hand over a bottle Remy was holding. Remy, predictably, whined and leaned against Toby, who looked at him with the kind of exasperation you can only get from being Remy’s long-lost best friend for life. 

Dorian let his eyes roam to Thomas, who was chatting happily with Joan and Tayln. ...He was smiling. Wide and open. Cheerful. Like a ray of sun had poked through the clouds. 

Dorian hadn’t seen that smile in... too long. 

He wrinkled his nose and passed Nate his drink. “Take this. It’s making me wax a poetic melancholy.” 

Nate took it and chuckled a little. “Well, I haven’t heard any poems.” 

“They’re not good poems, trust me.” Dorian sniffed, leaning closer to him. “Besides, you don’t need to make your head any bigger.” 

Nate hummed a little. “Would you date me even if I had a giant head?” 

“I’d have to think about it,” Dorian said. “I like your head the way it is.” 

Nate laughed and Dorian felt warm in a way that had nothing to do with the alcohol. Nate ran his fingers through his hair again and Dorian suppressed a shiver as he felt it snag on a callous. He suppressed another as Nate leaned close, lips practically on his. 

“Happy, Janus?” 

Dorian’s mouth curved into a smile. “...I don’t know the meaning of the word.” 

Nate clicked his tongue sympathetically. “Guess I’ll have to teach it to you.” 

Dorian grinned and leaned in to kiss him, sweet and hot and good, when- 

“Hey! If you get to make out, then I get to play spin the bottle with your cop friends!” 

Dorian groaned and pulled away to glare at Remy. “It’s my birthday, bitch. I get to do what I want!” 

Remy only cackled. Dorian huffed at that and leaned against Nate again. Nate laughed. He ran a hand up and down Dorian’s arm comfortingly. 

“It’s okay,” he said smoothly. “We’ll play our own game of spin the bottle later.” 

Well... now there was a decent birthday present.


	19. Chapter Eighteen

“I hope this works,” Emile said, glancing around cautiously as he kept an eye out for trouble

Remy scoffed, rolling his eyes and flipping the knife that he held in his hand. “Who cares if it works, I just  wanna kill someone. Break some necks, slit some throats, crack some skulls. Really gets the adrenaline pumping just thinking about it.” 

“No so fast,” Thomas said. “We have to be smart about this.”

“Right,” Emile agreed. “This isn’t about killing. This is about carefully luring out Pryce without getting caught.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Remy waved his hand. “ _ And  _ killing.”

“Fine. You can get the victim, and me and  Em can keep an eye out, watching for Pryce.”

“You really think he’ll come?” Emile asked.

“Who knows,” Thomas shrugged. “Hopefully. Better to deal with him sooner than later. Dorian says this is close to where he saw him last, so he could still be around.”

Remy huffed. “Why can’t we just kill him now?”

Emile sighed. “Remy, we’ve  _ talked  _ about  thi -”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Remy waved his hand dismissively again, interrupting him. “Dorian’s not coming today, is he?”

“Nope.” Thomas shook his head. “Dorian’s got a date with Nate tonight.”

“Damn, bailing on us for a guy? That’s  gotta be breaking some kind of bro code, right?”

“Aww, leave him alone,” Emile said. “They’re so cute together! I’ve never seen Dorian so smitten.”

Thomas hummed in agreement.

“Yeah, well, I hope Nate doesn’t rub off on him too much – and I don’t mean in the literal sense, though that, too,” Remy said. 

He opened his mouth to continue but was interrupted by both Thomas and Emile pulling faces.

“Okay-  eww ,” Thomas complained. “That’s our baby brother you’re talking about.”

“Our very grown up baby brother,” Remy corrected with a mischievous grin. He flipped his knife again, pointing it at Thomas. “Who kept trying to sneak off during his b-day party to make out with his boyfriend, so I don’t think that’s too weird of an assumption. Any- _ gay,  _ as I was saying before you oh-so rudely interrupted me, do you think Nate’s  gonna be too good of an influence on him? I don’t want Dorian to suddenly be all like  ‘oh, maybe we shouldn’t break the law,’ just ‘cos his cop boyfriend told him murder was wrong, or whatever.”

Emile clicked his tongue, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Dorian wouldn’t. And I thought you liked Nate?”

“I mean, yeah, he’s hot and I would totally hit that, but-”

Thomas let out a short bark of laughter. “Oh my gosh, Remy, you can’t say that. That’s Dorian’s boyfriend you’re talking about!”

“What?” Remy laughed. “It’s true! If Dorian didn’t like him so much, I’d totally try to hook up with him!”

“Wow, Remy, you’re such a-” Thomas began.

He was interrupted by Remy gasping loudly and over-exaggeratedly, covering his heart with the hand that still held his knife.

“Are you slut-shaming me,  Thomathy ?” He said, trying to sound shocked and offended but obviously trying not to smile. “Shame on you!”

Thomas elbowed his brother in the ribs. “I was going to say  _ homewrecker _ , you goof. And be careful with that knife, I don’t want you to put yourself in the hospital.”

Remy scoffed. “Okay,  _ mom,  _ I know what I’m doing,” __ he paused for a moment. “You know what, I think after this I’m  gonna go out drinking. Party the night away and then find someone to spend the night with. That sounds fun.”

“Alright, just remember to be safe,” Emile said.

Remy rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever,  _ other  _ mom. I know how to handle my alcohol. I drink it- like- all the time. I’ll be fine. I’m  gonna get wasted, then I’m  gonna get laid. It’ll be great!”

“Well, first we’ve  gotta get this murder,” Thomas said, reminding them of the task at hand. “Shall we?”

***

The first thing Remy did when he broke into the victim’s house was tie them up and gag them in their kitchen.

As much as he always enjoyed hearing the scum of the earth beg for their lives – people who’ve done atrocious things without a second thought, getting away with them, too, until the Sanders family brought matters into their own hands – the walls were thin, and Thomas and Emile had instructed their brother to keep things as quiet as possible. He’d pouted and complained, but ultimately gone along with it. At least he still got to watch the fear in his victim’s eyes as they realised their impending doom.

“Right,” Remy said, taking a step back. 

He rested one hand on his hip, using the other to continuously and easily flip his knife in the air. He might as well take advantage of the audience and show off.

“You have been  _ such  _ a well-behaved victim, today,” Remy continued. “So, I’m  gonna reward you a little! I think I’ll kill you a little quicker than usual – make it a little less painful, you know?”

The victim did not look grateful – just continued to watch Remy with widened, terrified eyes.

“But first... do you mind if I vent a little?” He said, pausing for a moment for a response that obviously never came, as his victim remained gagged. “My bros want me to stretch this out. Take a bit of time.”

Remy moved back, hopping up onto one of the kitchen counters and crossing one leg over the other, placing one gloved hand behind him and leaning back slightly. He gestured vaguely with his knife.

“Right, so. There’s this guy named Pryce,” he began. “He’s- like- totes annoying. He keeps following me and my bros around. He’s a bit of a stalker, you know?  And, like, usually I might take advantage of a stalker situation and mess around with them a bit if they’re hot . Fun stuff, right? But this guy’s different.” Remy huffed. “He  kinda gives me the creeps.  Em joked that he  kinda looks a bit like Papa, which I hate, but it’s  kinda true. Not in a ‘oh, they might be related,’ way, though. More in a... Pryce is trying to imitate him way. Like- even his hair, which is obviously dyed, is the same colour and he’s way  way too young to be our Pap , even if his nose was the right shape , but he’s clearly trying to be him which is creepy! Creepy and gross and I  _ really  _ wanna kill him, but my bros say that we should wait ‘til we know more about him, which I think is dumb.”

Remy suddenly jumped off the counter, beginning to pace around the kitchen whilst keeping an eye on the victim out of the corner of his eye.

“Murder’s, like, such a good problem solver, right? Kill the problem, and boom! Now there’s no more problem. IDK why they can’t see that, but since it’s three against one, I guess I’ve  gotta listen to them and go with their plan. Totes unfair, don’t you think?”

He paused, turning back to the victim, who was blinking, confused at him. After a moment, the victim started nodding aggressively, clearly trying to get on his good side in the hopes that Remy wouldn’t murder him. It didn’t work, but the agreement was appreciated.

“ _ Thank  _ you,” Remy said, throwing his hands up in the air. “Why can’t they just see that I’m right?”

He kicked a kitchen counter with his boot, making a loud thumping noise. “I bet  _ Toby  _ would agree with me,” He paused. “Oh, right,” he laughed. “You wouldn’t know who Toby is. Duh! I’m an idiot. Toby’s, uh... Toby’s my best friend. And  Em’s bf. We hadn’t seen him in a while, since we were kids, but we reunited recently, and it was great! I think he knows about, uh,  these  ‘nightly activities,’ but he doesn’t seem to care if he does, so that’s cool. Everything’s almost back to the way it’s supposed to be. We’re still missing our- wait, hey! What have you got there?”

Remy stomped back over to the victim, moving around them and gasping. He grabbed the phone that they’d managed to shimmy out of their pocket, snatching it from their hand and looking it over.

They hadn’t managed to call anyone – nothing was even open – and upon checking the call history, Remy could see that their last call had been hours ago. All they’d done was unlock it. He let out a sigh of relief, before turning back to glare at his victim.

“You little sneak! How dare you? Taking advantage of my  monologuing ? That’s just cruel!” 

He dropped the phone onto a counter, and then stabbed his knife down, immediately breaking it beyond repair. The victim made a quiet, terrified, muffled noise. 

“You know what? For that, I’m  gonna make your death  _ hurt _ .”

***

Emile and Thomas were waiting outside, hiding on a nearby rooftop in a spot where no one could seem them. They were keeping an eye out for Pryce – or the police – but no one had turned up. The streets were quiet, and they were alone.

Thomas sighed, sitting back and running his fingers through his hair. “I guess Pryce isn’t showing up tonight, then, huh?”

“Probably not. Dorian said when he showed up last time it was obvious.”

“Mmm, yeah. He doesn’t seem the subtle type,” Thomas agreed. “At least he seems to like us. That probably means he won’t turn us in if he knows too much.”

“That might change if we attack him, though,” Emile said. “We really have to be careful.”

Thomas nodded. “Yeah,” he huffed. “Tell that to Remy.”

“At least he’s listening. He might complain about it, but I don’t think he’ll act without us. He doesn’t like to listen, but he still does.”

Thomas snorted. “I doubt Dorian would agree with you, there.”

Emile cracked a slight smile. “Yes, well, Dee and Remy don’t always see eye-to-eye, but they get along when it counts. We’re family, nothing outweighs that. Not for us, anyway.”

“Yeah...”

Thomas trailed off, and Emile went quiet, too. It was clear they were both thinking about the same thing. After almost five minutes of the pair lost in quiet thought, Emile spoke up again, quieter this time.

“What do you think they’re doing, right now? You know... our dads?”

“Something sappy, probably.”

“Yeah... You think they still flirt with each other as much as they used to?”

“I don’t see that ever changing.”

“Me neither.”

Thomas smiled slightly, fondly. “Dad probably makes all the same puns.”

“Father probably still pretends to be annoyed by them, though we all know that he’s just pretending.”

“Pops is probably just as protective as ever. Always worried we’re  gonna get ourselves hurt or that someone will break a hip.”

“Papa’s probably got a million new nicknames he’ll use the next time we see him.”

Thomas’s brow creased in thought. “You really think we’re  gonna see them again?” He asked softly.

Emile took a moment to think, before he nodded firmly, placing his hand on his brother’s arm and squeezing it gently.

“Definitely.”

Thomas sighed. “I hope so...” he trailed off. “It’s just hard, sometimes, you know? I wonder if they’re proud of us– if they’ll still be proud of us when they find out everything we’ve been doing since they left. What if... we’ve been following in their footsteps, but what if that’s not good enough? ...What if  _ I’m  _ not good enough?”

Emile made a quiet, sad sound.

“Of  _ course,  _ you’re good enough. You’re better. You’re amazing! You’re my big brother, I love you, and I’m so,  _ so  _ proud of you. You know that, right?”

“Yeah, ditto.” Thomas smiled, though it remained a little sad. “I bet they’re proud of you, too. Uncle Hart’s probably told them all about how you’re a proper therapist now. You’re doing what you always wanted to, plus you’ve got Toby again. I’m sure they’re happy for you.”

“Oh, I wonder what they’d think of Nate, too.”

Thomas chuckled. “They’d probably do the whole overprotective dad thing. Shovel talk, you know. Dorian’s always  gonna be the  babiest brother, even when he pretends to complain about it.”

“Yeah... but Remy’s right. He’s grown up a lot, even if he’s still the shortest. I can’t wait to see their faces when they get to see him again.”

“I miss them so much.”

“Yeah. Me, too.”


	20. Chapter Nineteen

Dorian drummed his fingers against the desk, thoroughly bored. He looked over at Nate, who seemed to be having as slow a day as he was – leaning back in his chair and typing lazily at his keyboard. Dorian paused for a moment, before he leaned over and tapped Nate’s desk, grabbing his attention, then gestured towards the coffee machine. Nate nodded, and the two of them got up and headed over there.

Dorian poured them each a cup, and they added as much milk and sugar as they cared to before sitting at the nearby table and just letting themselves relax a moment. Dorian leaned over, putting his chin on Nate’s shoulder and resting his head against his boyfriend’s.

“Today is boring,” he stated firmly.

Nate snorted. “Oh, really?” He teased. “And here I thought you just couldn’t wait for our next coffee date.” 

“That, too,” Dorian nudged his head a little closer. “But mostly because today is boring and sucks, and I can’t focus on work, anyway.”

Nate chuckled a little and gently reached up to run a hand through Dorian’s hair. “Something on your mind, babe? Other than me, of course.”

Dorian hesitated a moment, before sighing and speaking. “Have you ever wondered if a case was really over when you finished it? Like... have you ever doubted that you actually locked away the right person?”

Nate’s hand stilled, and his body tensed. Dorian looked up at him, confused. 

“Babe?”

Nate swallowed. “Sorry. It- it just reminded me of a case that I haven’t thought about in a while. That’s all.”

Dorian reached over and took the hand that Nate had rested on his coffee. “Tell me about it? You don’t have to, but it might help.”

Nate nodded and took a deep breath. “A while back, before I transferred to the 99 th precinct, I had a case where a little girl had been murdered. Pretty gruesomely, too. It was the first case I can remember that ever actually made me want to throw up. I won’t go into details but... it was awful. The only two suspects were her parents, and I was almost certain that the mother did it. I worked for almost three weeks straight-” 

Dorian coughed.

Nate snorted. “Okay, three weeks  _ gay _ . I worked so hard at trying to prove it that that I practically moved into my desk. Then, just when I was about to make a breakthrough, we found the murder weapon in the backyard with the father’s DNA all over it. He got locked away before I could disprove it and the case was declared closed. I was told not to work on it anymore, but I’ve never believed that the right parent got locked away...”

“What made you so sure?” Dorian asked softly. “It could have been either of them, right?”

Nate shook his head. “I can tell when someone actually loved their kid, and when someone is actually mourning. The mom had all these schedules and outlined her daughter’s accomplishments, but the dad actually talked to me about how he spent time with her. I couldn’t find anything concrete enough to take to court but...” He shook his head again and sighed.

Dorian rubbed his knuckle a little with his thumb. “Hey, it’s not your fault. The system is broken. All we can do is our best from inside it.”

“Do you mean the police system or society as a whole?”

“Both.”

Nate barked a short laugh and leaned over to press a kiss to Dorian’s forehead. “Thank you, Jan. That... that does help.”

“I’m glad,” Dorian hummed. “Can I ask what the case number was? I want to know more to comfort you better, but I don’t want to dredge up unhappy memories.”

Nate smiled, gave him another kiss, his thanks, and the case number.

“I don’t know how helpful it’ll be but you’re welcome to look it over,” Nate said. “Just be warned that it’s pretty gruesome.”

“I don’t mind gruesome. I’ve grown pretty used to gruesome. And... well, you’ve always had the context to help me out. Let me return the favor.” 

Dorian rose and kissed Nate before taking his coffee and going back to his desk. 

Now, he didn’t really think of himself as an honest person, which was perhaps the most honest assessment of all regarding him, but the truth was he didn’t want the case number so that he could comfort his boyfriend, though he was certainly going to do that. No, he was looking up the case number because he was well versed in tracking down immoral people. All he needed was her name. 

Then he could make that bitch pay.

That was what he did best, after all.

***

It didn’t take long for Dorian to find out his new victim’s name. It didn’t take long for him to track her down, either. It took slightly longer for him to reach her – she'd moved away, but not too far – but that wasn’t a problem, either.

He’d checked in with Emile just before, made sure he had an alibi, just in case, and then packed up and left as soon as he’d left Nate’s place. Comforting his boyfriend was top priority. Murder came just after.

It was past midnight by the time he reached her house.

The streets were empty – it was a suburban neighborhood late at night, and it didn’t take long for him to break into her house.

When he entered her bedroom, she was fast asleep, sprawled out across her bedsheets with her duvet kicked to the floor. The clothes in her open wardrobe were nice, and the jewelry that overflowed from her jewelry box were much more expensive than someone so disgusting and evil deserved, and it made Dorian sick to his stomach.

Her window was open, so the first thing he did was shut it silently, pulling the curtains shut. He shut the door, and turned the lock. No way to be overheard. No way to be seen. And no way for his unsuspecting victim to escape.

Perfect.

Dorian climbed onto the bed, towering over her, and pulled out the duct tape, awaking his victim by taping her mouth shut. He pinned her down the moment she stared up at him.

Her eyes widened with terror – delicious terror that Dorian savored with a wide grin. She tried to scream, but the duct tape made it muffled and quiet. She squirmed and wriggled and tried to escape, but he shoved her back to the mattress, unsheathing a knife and making it very,  _ very  _ clear that she would pay dearly for any escape attempt.

(He’d hurt her and make her pay either way, but she wasn’t quite aware of that yet.)

“Do you think your daughter was this afraid when you murdered her in cold blood?” Dorian asked, with a light, mocking tone.

The victim froze, staring up at him with even wider eyes than before, and then she began to shake her head so aggressively that it was like she was trying to shake her brain into mush. Dorian scoffed, rolling his eyes and tossing his knife into the air, catching it easily and pointing the blade at her.

“Don’t try to fool me, bitch. I already know, and nothing you say will be able to change what I’m going to do with you.”

She let out another muffled scream.

“Quiet,” he barked an order. “Now, I'm sure I don’t have to tell you why I’m here. Murdering your daughter, framing your poor, grieving husband, upsetting the love of my life.” At her confused look at the last one, he waved his hand dismissively. “Forget that last part.  _ Anyway,  _ I’m here to kill you and to make it  _ hurt _ .”

She sobbed – another muffled sound that was starting to annoy Dorian.

“Ugh, I guess I’ve  gotta _ make  _ you shut up, then,” he said, lifting his blade. “Let’s see. How shall we start... should I carve out your tongue?”

***

Dorian jumped at the urgent-sounding knock at his front door.

He got up from the couch, brushing invisible dirt from his clothing. There were three secret knives hidden on his person – under his clothes, in places easily removable in an instant if he needed them in a fight. There were numerous other weapons hidden in his apartment, more than he could count.

He took a moment to gather his thoughts, before he opened his door.

Dorian immediately relaxed, as he came face-to-face with Nate, who looked a little wild. Dorian looked him over, and his brow creased with concern and confusion.

“Nate?” He asked. “Is everything alright?”

Nate moved forward, resting his  hands on Dorian’s shoulders – like he was about to shake him, though he didn’t. His sunglasses were propped up on his head, his jacket and shirt a little crumpled and lopsided, and his hair was a mess.

“Someone killed her,” he said.

Dorian blinked, feigning surprise. “Someone killed who?”

“ _ Her _ . The- the murderer who got away that I told you about the other day. They found her tied up and tortured in her bed. Someone killed her!”

“That’s... do you want to come in for a drink?”

Nate nodded, and Dorian stepped aside, letting him into his apartment and shutting the door behind him.

He needed to be careful. Dorian really,  _ really  _ couldn’t let Nate discover the truth. He couldn’t possibly give anything away. He had no idea how Nate would react, though... Dorian had to admit that coming clean was tempting. He didn’t want to get caught.  He definitely, definitely didn’t want to get caught, but sometimes he wondered... would Nate turn him in?

“This is- I don’t know how to feel about this,” Nate said, pacing around back and forth in the room. “I think...” He sighed.

Dorian walked over to him, placing his hand on Nate’s shoulder. “What do you think?”

“I think...” Nate trailed off, looking up and meeting Dorian’s eyes, looking into them like he was searching for something. “I think... I shouldn’t think that she deserves it, I’m a cop. That’s- that’s not how these things are supposed to go. I’m supposed to be a true believer in the legal system and pursuing justice that way, but... I can’t help but think she deserved this.”

“She was a terrible person.” Dorian squeezed Nate’s shoulder. “Someone who killed and hurt and got away with it. It’s natural to think she deserves punishment.”

Nate leaned towards him a little, still looking into Dorian’s eyes like he was seeking some kind of answers.

“Do you? Do you think she deserved  that? ”

Dorian swallowed, knowing full well that answering that question honestly could set Nate down the path of a dangerous discovery.

“Yes.”


	21. Chapter Twenty

“You know, when you told me you were taking me out tonight, this was not what I was expecting.”

Dorian side-eyed his boyfriend. “What were you expecting?”

Nate hummed. “Well, I dunno. ‘I’m taking you out’ has a lot of possible meanings, so I figured I was either going to be taken to dinner or murdered.” He then gestured vaguely at the wall the two of them were hiding behind. “Stalking was not high on my list of expectations.”

“Well, sorry to disappoint.”

“Not disappointed,” Nate said cheerily  enough , putting his hands in his pockets. “And I probably shouldn’t be surprised, either. This is very like you.”

Dorian huffed. “I don’t think I like what that implies about my personality,” he said, crossing his arms.

Nate laughed. “Babe, you’re the one who asked me to stalk with you.” He then paused for a moment, thinking. “You know, actually, you didn’t really ask. You kinda just took me here and didn’t explain anything. So I’m still a bit confused.”

“We’re stalking Pryce to see if he does anything suspicious.”

Nate nodded slowly. “Okay... and what counts as suspicious?”

“I don’t know – anything murdery, I guess?” Dorian uncrossed his arms, shrugging. “Just anything illegal. And if he starts trying to stalk me or one of my brothers, then we’ll know we’re on the right track.”

“I’m pretty sure  _ we’re  _ the stalkers, here.”

“Yeah, well, he stalked my family, first. We’re just getting even.”

“Alright, fair enough.”

Dorian blinked. “Wait... really?”

“Yeah, of course,” Nate nudged Dorian gently with his arm. “I’ve got your back. And I agree, there’s something up with this guy, we’ve gotta figure this out. If you think following him will help, I trust you, and I’ll follow you on this.”

Dorian looked surprised – slightly wide-eyed, and even almost a little flustered – at Nate’s complete trust and willingness to follow him, without a second thought and without expecting anything back in return. He stared at him for a few seconds, before he swallowed and looked away, fixing his eyes on the corner of the costume shop across the street, the only part of it that they could see from the alleyway they were stood in. He didn’t want to risk Pryce spotting them – or, even worse, coming over and initiating a conversation with them, especially with everything he’d seen already.

There were far too many risks when it came to Pryce, and Dorian wanted to deal with him sooner rather than later.

Murder was an appealing option, but not yet.

Dorian cleared his throat. “Right, well.” He straightened up. “That costume shop across is owned by Pryce, and he should be working there right now, if my info’s right.” He paused for Nate’s nod, and then continued. “My theory is that this is where The Court Jesters got their costumes from.”

“Oh, right,” Nate took one hand out of his pocket to snap his fingers. “I remember, we tried that lead but could never figure out where they got those from. They weren’t anything recognisable that we could find in any stores or online, so it was a dead end. I figured they must’ve made them themselves or paid someone to keep quiet about it. But this would made sense. If he owns the place he’s probably able to make his own stuff ,  and stuff.”

“Right?” Dorian nodded at him, before turning to look in the store’s direction again. “If only there was a way we could get inside and check...”

Nate chuckled. “Breaking and entering’s kinda illegal,  babe .”

Dorian huffed, rolling his eyes and poking Nate’s arm. “Not what I meant.” (A lie, that was absolutely what he meant.) “I  _ meant  _ that I wish there was a way we could get inside and talk to Pryce, maybe look around the shop for anything similar to The Court Jesters’ costumes, but he’d recognise both of us and realise what we’re trying to do. Or worse, be creepy again.”

Nate hummed, nodding, but with a slight smirk that said that he didn’t  _ really  _ believe Dorian, and that he knew that Dorian knew that, but that he wasn’t going to press or tease.

“Alright,” he said. “So, what’s the plan?”

Dorian shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “The shop closes soon, in about-” he pulled his phone from his pocket, checking his phone before pocketing it again. “-ten minutes. After that, I want to follow him and see where he goes. Maybe he’ll lead us right to something important, but I doubt it’ll be that easy.”

“It never is,” Nate commented.

“Mmm...” Dorian nodded, before pausing for a moment, looking Nate over. “Sorry this isn’t the date you wanted,” he said finally. “But...”

Nate smiled at him, taking Dorian’s hand and squeezing it. “It’s alright. Any time spent with you is time well spent, especially if it helps us catch a killer. And besides, I think this still counts as a date, right? I mean we’re alone together in the moonlight... Totally a date.”

Dorian laughed, returning Nate’s easy smile. “Right.”

***

The couple had followed Pryce for over an hour but hadn’t found anything. His routine after locking up his shop after work had been surprisingly normal, and surprisingly boring.

The prince costume Pryce had worn at work and afterwards had made Dorian feel queasy, and he was sure that his discomfort had been visible on his face. Nate had asked if he was okay, and he’d lied and said he was. Nate hadn’t looked like he’d believed him but thankfully left it alone.

After work, Pryce had gone grocery shopping, and whilst the sheer amount of ice cream he’d purchased had been strange, it hadn’t been suspicious. Nothing he’d bought and nothing he’d done on his walk from the grocery store to his apartment had been in any way suspicious. He did nothing that could’ve connected to The Court Jesters.

The only thing Dorian had really learned was that the Roman-like smile he’d shown him and his brothers had definitely been fake. His real, genuine smile was a look more natural, and a lot less disconcerting. One more thing to prove that this man was actually nothing like his Papa.

They hadn’t discovered anything by following the rules, so Dorian decided to take matters into his own hands.

Late that night – long past midnight, when all the shops on that street would be closed, and hopefully empty, too – he left his apartment, and made his way towards the costume shop.

He wore ordinary, dark clothes, with an over-sized black hoodie with his hood pulled up – his hair tied up, out of his face and tucked inside it, contacts and makeup both applied to hide his less common features – as he didn’t want to draw any attention. He hadn’t seen any cameras pointed at the shop when he’d scouted the place earlier with Nate, but he had his mask in his pocket just in case. He could put it on at a moment’s notice. 

Dorian strolled down the street he’d walked down earlier that day, this time only illuminated by the streetlamps, instead of by the sun. It was cold, and he was definitely glad he was wearing a hoodie.

There were a few people wandering around, mostly looking just as dark and suspicious as Dorian was, and paying much less attention to him than he was to them. None were too close to the costume shop, thankfully, and they didn’t seem to care when he entered the alleyway beside the store, approaching the side door that was surrounded by boxes.

He glanced around, checking for people and cameras, before he put on his mask and got to work picking the lock.

Of course, luck had never been in his favour, since just as he got the door open, he heard a familiar voice coming from the end of the alleyway.

“Who’s there?”

Dorian looked up, alarmed, and he froze in place as his eyes landed on Nate, who was standing just a few feet away, staring at him.

Shit. Shit.  _ Shit _ .

Thank god he was wearing his mask and standing in the shadows. Nate didn’t seem to recognise him, but that didn’t make things much better.

How had Papa done this in his early Prince days? He’d lasted so long without Father or Pops discovering the truth, and Dorian was suddenly much more sympathetic to Roman’s previous situation and impressed that he’d kept his secret for so long.

Dorian swallowed, deciding not to answer since there was no way Nate wouldn’t recognise his voice. Even if he lowered it, he had every faith that Nate could pick his voice out from even the most overcrowded karaoke bars.  The thought made his stomach feel a little warm, even though this wasn’t the time or the place for any such thing.

He looked away, keeping Nate in the corner of his vision, but not looking directly at him. Nate took a step towards him, and he took a step back, prompting Nate to take a step back.  Ever the gentleman.

“Right...” Nate trailed off. There were a few seconds of silence. “I recognise that mask,” he said eventually. “You’re one of the, uh... The Royal Flush. The Jack, right? Of spades or clubs something ?”

If Dorian hadn’t known it would give his identity away, he would’ve sworn aloud at that.

There was a beat of silence. Dorian’s heart pounded loud enough to fill it.

“Your latest victim,” Nate continued, quietly. “Or, at least, the last one you left your calling card at. I... I knew her. She- she got away with something really bad a while back... though I guess you probably already knew that.” He let out a short, humourless laugh, running his fingers through his hair. The clearly distressed expression on his face made Dorian want to comfort him, though he knew he couldn’t do that, and it made him clench his hands into fists. “I- I actually just told my boyfriend about that case, right before you killed the guy.”

Dorian’s pounding heart skipped a beat. Was he about to unmasked? Did Nate know the truth? He couldn’t ask, there was no way to know unless Nate told him.

Fuck. Was Dorian about to be the cause of another disastrous unmasking of his family?

He couldn’t do this to them again, and he didn’t know if he could handle an arrest at the hands of his boyfriend. Nate meant too much to him.

Dorian took a deep breath, steeling his nerves.

He still couldn’t say anything, even though he really wanted to.

Nate sighed. “I really should arrest you,” he said. “There’s enough evidence of crime, and I’m pretty sure I just caught you trying to break into this place, so I definitely have enough cause to at least bring you in, but....” He sighed again, louder and more irritated this time. “God, I could get in so much trouble for this, this is  _ such  _ a bad idea. But- but...”

Dorian waited. Tense.

He could’ve tried to run – Nate didn’t even seem to have a gun with him, and Dorian knew he was faster than him. Nate didn’t seem to want to arrest him, either, and probably would’ve let him go without attempting to follow.

But Dorian wanted to hear him out.

It was a bad idea. He  _ knew  _ it was a bad idea. One wrong move, one step out of the shadows, one slip of the mask, one accidental word spoken aloud. That was all it would take for Nate to find out. 

Maybe he’d gotten too close, too fond, too tangled in a web of lies and identities and maybe he wanted Nate to just be one thing without any of that. Or maybe there was something else entirely that Dorian couldn’t admit to even himself. But... when Nate talked again, Dorian couldn’t find in himself to do anything but listen.

“I’m going to let you go,” Nate said, with a bravado in his voice that Dorian could automatically tell was false. “I’m- for now, at least. I just... thank you. Thank you for killing her, she- I think she deserved it.”

After that, he went silent, and Dorian knew he was waiting for an answer.

Seconds passed, with the two of them just standing there in silence. An awkward silence that Dorian was unfamiliar feeling with Nate. Usually things were so warm and friendly and comfortable between them, but Nate didn’t know who he was – there was a part of Dorian that wanted him to, even though he knew that that would be a mistake so big it would shatter what family he still had – so things weren’t the way they usually were.

Dorian turned his head towards Nate, not quite meeting his eyes but keeping his gaze just beside Nate’s head. He then nodded slowly.

Vague, but hopefully enough of an answer for Nate.

Silence.

Then... Nate nodded back.

“Alright,” he spoke quietly, before chuckling softly and running his fingers through his hair. “You know, if we ever meet again, I’ll have to arrest you. But... I guess this is a truce. Well, for now, at least. And- and thank you, again.”

Dorian nodded one more time before turning away. The two of them drifted apart like ships in the night, each going their separate ways.  And even as he let out a sigh of relief, Dorian couldn’t help but feel... something almost akin to regret.


	22. Chapter Twenty-One

“How do you feel about Irish coffee?” 

Toby looked over at Remy, looking a bit startled. “Uh... what’s that?” 

Emile frowned slightly, and cuddled closer to his boyfriend. “Coffee, whiskey, sugar, and cream – AKA, Remy’s favorite food. But don’t let him bully you into having some, ‘cos he can and will drink you under the table.” 

Toby blinked and looked over at Remy, who shrugged. 

“What can I say?” Remy said. “I like my liquor.” 

“You’re going to get liver failure,” Toby politely informed him, trying not to sound too concerned. 

Remy just shrugged again. “So, you want some?” 

“Nah, not this time,” Toby said. “Just make me some black tea and I’ll be good.” 

“More for me, then,” Remy said cheerfully, grinning. He turned to walk away and make their drinks, but Emile stopped him in his tracks, calling out after him. 

“Remy!” Emile scolded. “House rule.” 

Remy’s face fell into a scowl. “That’s a dumb rule.” 

“You can’t drink alone while under my roof,” Emile said. 

“But, I’m not alone! You two lovebirds are here.” 

“That’s _not_ what that rule means, and we both know you know that.” 

Remy’s scowl deepened and he threw his hands up in the air with a huff. “Fine! Fine. Just three cups of black tea. Whatever. Fine.” 

He turned back into the kitchen, clearly still grumpy. Toby leaned closer to Emile when Remy was gone. 

“Don’t you hate black tea?” He whispered. 

“I do,” Emile whispered back. “But I’m letting him give me some, anyway. It’s his way of lashing out without actually lashing so... yeah. I’m willing to drink a gallon of black tea if it keeps Remy from day drinking.” 

Toby nodded slowly, though a hint of worry kept gnawing in the back of his skull, and he couldn’t get it out of his head. Not for the first time, he wondered what exactly the Sanders brothers had been through while he’d been out of their lives. He’d always wondered, of course, but seeing them again – now and in person – it hit different. 

Remy alone, was obviously full of issues, but Toby was sharp enough to see them in Emile, too, despite how much he tried to hide it. There was a look, around the edges of his eyes and whenever he thought no one could see him. Emile looked... tired. Strained. In a way that he probably wouldn’t want to admit to, but that Toby desperately wanted to relieve him of. 

Even if no amount of snuggling and gentle kisses could ever bring Emile the rest he clearly needed. 

Toby just... wanted to help; wanted to make them both feel better. Dorian and Thomas, too, if he could reach them, but he’d always been closer to the twins, and now it almost seemed as if there was some unseen divide separating Dorian from everyone else, though Thomas especially seemed to try to stick to his side. Even at his own birthday party, he’d stayed at the edges. 

The only exception was that Nate guy. 

Something about that guy seemed to make Dorian want to trust him, which made Toby want to squint at him and pull the guy to the side for a shovel talk. Even though Dorian’s actual brothers had probably already done that. 

It was illogical, but... well, Toby wasn’t really known for thinking with his head. 

Remy returned, snapping him from his thoughts. He set down the mugs (each laden with an appropriate Adventure Time character), draped himself across the couch, and threw his legs across both of their laps. 

“You look broody.” Remy told Toby matter-of-factly, still a little huffy from the conversation before. 

“Thank you,” Toby said, poking Remy’s socked foot. “It’s a look I’ve worked hard to perfect.” 

“Well, you’re excelling at it, so kudos for that,” Remy said. “What’cha brooding about?” 

Toby paused, thinking. He wasn’t sure that delving into all of his worries, right now, would be a good idea, so he decided to keep it simple. “I just really missed you two, that’s all. I wish I could make up for all the lost time.” 

“Aww!” Emile cooed, giving Toby a soft, fond look that he’d never get tired of. 

“Sap,” Remy teased at the same time. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Toby snorted, waving both comments away. “Can’t a guy just miss his two favorite people in the world?” 

“We missed you, too!” Emile said happily, moving his arms to hug Toby as best he could from their spots on the couch. “Lots and lots, every day!” 

“Well, not _every_ day,” Remy mused. “Tuesdays and bank holidays at least, though.” 

Emile reached over to poke his brother’s arm. “That’s very specific.” 

“That’s a Lilo and Stitch ref, you nut. Can’t believe you didn’t catch that.” 

“Hey, you’re the nut, here!” 

“I am not! I’m a whole-” 

“Ladies, ladies,” Toby interrupted with a laugh. “You’re both pretty.” 

Remy sat up, reaching over Emile to gently push Toby’s shoulder, making Toby snort and Emile giggle. 

“We try,” Remy said, smiling. “Of course, pretty loves company...” 

“That’s misery,” Emile corrected. 

“...No, I’m pretty sure it makes me happy,” Remy said. “Don’t like to be in bed alone, you know?” 

Emile huffed at him. “That isn’t what I meant.” 

“Eh.” Remy shrugged. 

The two continued bantering and Toby couldn’t help but smile at them. Not for the first time, he wondered why on earth sitting with them was his happy place, but at the same time he knew exactly why. 

Toby didn’t think with his head, he thought with his heart, he always had. And at the core of that heart, the Sanders twins were nestled together, forever intertwined even after all those years parts. It’s true that the more things change, the more they stay the same, and Toby’s love for them – platonic and romantic, but both just as strong – was as steadfast and unchanging as gravity itself. 

It didn’t matter what the future held; Toby wouldn’t let them get torn away from him ever again. 

*** 

It wasn’t that Remy didn’t love Emile and Toby, or that he wasn’t happy for them. Quite the opposite, actually! He was ecstatic that he had his best friend back, and even more so that the two of them had _finally_ gotten off their asses and gotten together after a lifetime’s worth of pining. 

However... 

When the three of them all hung out in the same place things tended to get a little... couple-y. It wasn’t something they could help – they probably hardly even noticed their excessive sappiness, as it seemed to come naturally to the both of them – and, honestly, Remy didn’t want them to. But when things started to head into a kissy territory, Remy tended to dip out. They needed space and even if they didn’t, he wanted to make sure they had some. 

So... how better to spend his time than with a nighttime patrol? The city needed its King of Spades, after all. 

Well, it needed all of The Royal Flush, but Remy liked to think of himself as their most important member, being the King, after all. And he was the most experienced – and, he liked to think, the most skilled – out of all of his brothers. 

So, he found himself where the King so often did find himself. On the roof of a building in his full Flush regalia, seeking someone doing harm to their fellow humans or something fucking heroic sounding like that. 

Now, Brooklyn was a loud place. Scratch that, _New York_ was a loud place. You didn’t start getting called ‘the city that never sleeps’ for no reason, after all. However, the noise pollution that plagued it was always very distinct. Cars, yelling, yowling, singing: the sounds of human beings rushing about and being mostly awful and often morose to one another. A sound that was rare to hear was the distinct sound of bells jingling behind you. 

And yet... 

There they were. 

King whirled around. Behind him was a man in a jester costume, the bells on his stupid hat giving him away as he approached, grinning. 

King snarled. “Oh. _You_.” 

“Oh-ho, does my reputation precede me?” The Court Jester asked him. “Or are you a fellow fan?” 

“A fan is hardly what I’d name you. And yet I’d _love_ for shit to hit you.” 

The Jester laughed harshly. “Wow! I knew you Royal Flush folks were bold and brash, but this is something else! Whatever have I done to you to draw such ire?” 

“None of your beeswax,” King growled at him. “Just know this ass-kicking is well deserved.” 

King threw a punch, but the Jester dodged it deftly. He waggled a finger at Remy and tutted condescendingly. 

“Ah-ah-ah!” He said with a laugh. “You may be the King, but you’re not the royalty I preform for. The Court Jesters perform for the Prince, and the Prince alone. As such, I’d really prefer not to come to blows with you. In fact, I-” 

King kneed him in the gut, cutting off whatever bullshit he’d been about to spout. While the Jester was doubled over, King brought a fist down on the back of his head. The Jester cried out a bit, but he managed to slip out of range before King could bring another blow back down on him. 

He finally snarled back at the King. “I’d really rather we didn’t fight. I-” 

“Too late.” Remy snapped. 

He whipped his fist out, landing it squarely in the Jester’s nose. The other man cried out in pain, reeling backwards. Remy geared up for another blow, only to have his feet kicked out from under him. He looked up from his place on the ground just in time to see the Jester walking towards him. King gave him a taste of his own medicine, sweeping his legs with his foot and knocking the Jester flat on his back. 

Using one hand to support himself, King spun, kicking the Jester’s ribs and springing up in one fluid motion. A cruel smile reached across his face and he reached inside his coat for his favorite knife. 

His fingers closed around the handle and- 

**_BANG!_ **

A gunshot rang out across the roof. King stumbled forwards. He cried out as he put his weight on the leg that just got shot and careened forward, ending up flat on his face. 

King snarled a little as he heard the Jester’s footsteps walk closer. Before Remy could roll over onto his back, the arrogant bastard crouched down and pressed a finger into King's fresh wound. King clenched his teeth, trapping the howl of pain behind them. 

“Ouch. That looks nasty,” the Jester said, sounding like he would be sympathetic, if he hadn’t been the wound’s cause. “Well. Now, hopefully you’ll listen to me? I’ve got an idea that’ll help us both if you’ll just hear me out.” 

“Drop. Dead.” King growled. 

He rolled over and swiped upwards with his knife. The Jester leaped back, narrowly missing getting his eye cut out. The knife missed it, glancing off his mask and hitting the ribbon that held it onto the other man’s face. 

Time seemed to slow as King’s knife cut through the ribbon. The large, gaudy mask dropped, as if in slow motion. King stared as he watched it tumble downwards, yellow over green over purple over yellow and back again, cheap bells pinging in the fall. 

It hit the ground with an anticlimactic jingle, bouncing once before settling, though King felt as though it had caused an earthquake all the same. 

The two killers stood stock still, staring at the mask. At the covering. At the only protection the Jester’s identity had had. 

Slowly, the fog of pain in King’s brain lifted just a little. And he raised his eyes upward. 

Pryce Kingsley was still staring at his mask. Blinking. As if he couldn’t believe that thin black ribbons were susceptible to sharp knives. 

King let out a small, disbelieving laugh. Pryce’s eyes snapped to him. 

“Well,” King purred, chuckling. “Seems like it’s you that’s gonna have to listen.” 

Pryce’s eyes widened again. He leapt back to his feet, scooping up the mask as he went. He kicked King's gunshot wound and King cried out. He screwed his eyes shut and his hands clutched at the wound. 

When the pain ebbed, he opened his eyes again and looked around. 

The Jester was gone. 

He'd left him alive for some unknown reason. 

But... Remy knew who he was. And Pryce Kingsley was in for a world of hurt. 


	23. Chapter Twenty Two

“You don’t have to walk me home, you know,”  Dorian said, refusing to admit the joy he felt at Nate swinging their joined hands as they walked. “I’m not some... teenage girl about to miss curfew. I can make it home by myself.”

The couple had stayed at the precinct much later than usual, working on the case.  It was already dark, so Dorian would’ve almost understood the desire to walk him home, if he had been anyone other than himself. It had taken him slightly longer than he would’ve liked to admit for him to realise that Nate was walking him home as an excuse to spend more time with him, not out of some concern for his safety.

Nate laughed. “Sure. You  _ definitely  _ aren’t enjoying this,” he spoke sarcastically, shooting his boyfriend a grin.

Dorian huffed, rolling his eyes and failing to hide a smile. “There’s no need to tease me.”

“Are you sure? ‘Cos you’re always very cute when I tease you.”

“Do you want me to let go of your hand?”

Nate squeezed Dorian’s hand, tugging him back when he walked slightly ahead.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry,” he laughed again. “I won’t pick on you.”

“Thank you.”

“Even if your reactions are very cute.”

Dorian tried to shoot him a flat look, but the smile creeping up on his face ruined the effect significantly. Nate smiled back – softer and fonder than the teasing one he’d had just moments before – and Dorian was suddenly distracted from the teasing and banter, his head now filled with thoughts of kissing Nate and the desire to never let go of his hand again.

Despite how long they’d now been together, Dorian still wasn’t quite used to it. He wasn’t used to having someone outside of his family who just... cared about him and didn’t expect anything back in return. Dorian was starting to trust Nate – something that usually only applied to his brothers and –  on rare occasions – his uncles.

Keeping such a large secret from him, one that could ruin their relationship if it ever came to light, was starting to make Dorian uncomfortable. It left a bad taste in his mouth just thinking about it.

Dorian pushed those thoughts down. Thinking about kissing Nate was a much more pleasant experience, and he’d much rather focus on that.

Then, Dorian suddenly remembered that he  _ could  _ kiss Nate, and that Nate probably wanted him to.

Nate squeezed his hand again.

“You okay, Jan?” He asked, concerned.

Dorian pulled himself from his thoughts.

“Yes,” he answered, too quickly.

Nate raised his eyebrows. “Sure?”

Dorian opened his mouth to answer – to lie, again – but stopped himself. Did he really want to do this? Did he really want to keep lying, especially when it was obvious that Nate knew he was being dishonest?

No, he didn’t.

For once in his life, Dorian didn’t want to lie.

But he knew he had to: if not for his own sake, then for his brothers’. He sighed, looking away from Nate and staring at his feet, instead.

“Not really,” he admitted. “But I can’t really talk about it. It- it’s family related.”

A dangerous thing to say, when they both knew who Dorian’s family was. Who they had been. What they’d done.

There was a beat.

“Alright,” Nate said, softer than before. “But you know I’m always here to talk, right?”

Dorian finally looked back up at Nate, meeting his eyes and finding his boyfriend’s expression just as soft and open and concerned as his voice had been.

“Yeah, I know,” Dorian said. After a moment, he continued. “Sorry for ruining the moment.”

“You didn’t ruin anything,” Nate answered back immediately.

“Okay, whatever.”

It didn’t take long for the couple to arrive at Dorian’s apartment. Their walk happened mostly in quiet, with minimal conversation, though that was still nice. Sometimes a warm silence like that was comfortable, and it meant that  Dorian didn’t have to worry too much about saying the wrong words and giving something away.

“Are you doing anything tonight?” Dorian asked as they stopped outside his front door.

“Sleeping, probably.”

Dorian gave Nate a flat look. “Other than that.”

“Uh... nothing. Why?”

“Do you want to come over?”

“Hmm... I don’t know, it’s pretty late,” Nate said, though he was smiling, and it didn’t seem like he actually had to think it through.

Dorian snorted. He opened his mouth to respond but was interrupted by a sudden bang on the other side of the door, like something heavy had just been dropped. They both turned to look at it, before looking at each other with confused expressions.

“Sounds like someone’s already inside,” Nate said.

Dorian thought about it for a moment. “...Probably one of my brothers. Remy, maybe.” He glanced at the door again, before looking back at his boyfriend. “Might not be the best idea for you to come in, then. Sorry.”

“It’s alright, I hope everything’s okay.”

Dorian nodded. He leant forward and pressed a quick kiss to Nate’s lips. They exchanged their goodbyes, and Dorian waited until Nate had walked off and was out of sight before he turned and unlocked his door.  He pushed it open and stepped inside, glower already fixed on his face.

“Fucking  _ finally _ , where the hell have you been?” Remy exclaimed the moment Dorian shut the door behind him.

He was laying across Dorian’s couch, with both Emile and Thomas standing beside him.

“Work,” Dorian responded. “Why?”

“I got shot!”

That was when Dorian noticed that Remy was in his King of Spades outfit, with his mask laying abandoned on the floor. His pants were blood-stained –  which wasn’t uncommon – with one leg rolled up, exposing the bandages just below his knee. Dorian recognised Emile’s handiwork.

_ “What? _ What happened?”

“Pryce,” Emile explained. “We were right, he is the last Court Jester.”

“And he fucking  _ shot  _ me. Bastard! I’m  gonna kill him,” Remy spat. “‘Performing for the Prince,’ my ass. If Papa ever met the guy, he’d  wanna hurt him just as much as we do.”

Thomas nodded. “Agreed.”

“So, it’s definitely Pryce, then?” Dorian asked.

“Definitely. I got the dick’s mask off and saw his dumb fucking face.” Remy scowled. “Next time I see him, I’m killing him, and I’m  gonna make sure it fucking  _ hurts _ .”

“You’re not killing anyone in this condition,” Emile said, placing a hand on Remy’s shoulder, as if to keep him in place. “You can barely even walk.”

“I managed to drag myself over here,” Remy argued.

Thomas snorted. “Yeah, with my help. You’re not going anywhere ‘til your leg’s better.”

Dorian huffed. “Right. I’m all for that. But he’s not saying at my place.” At that, all his brothers turned to him, and he crossed his arms. “What? I’m dating a cop! It’s a shitty idea to keep Remy here.”

“Wow, choosing your boyfriend over me? Bitch.”

Dorian glared at him, but before he could argue, Emile spoke up, stepping between them and holding his hands out in a placating gesture.

“It’s fine,” he said. “Remy can just stay with me ‘til he’s better.”

“Thank you, at least  _ someone’s  _ nice to me.”

“Yeah, well, maybe if you weren’t such a bitch, I’d be willing to let you come over more.”

Emile sighed, giving Dorian a disappointed look. “Dee, come on. He’s been shot.”

“Fine. Whatever,” Dorian said. “I need a drink.”

“Ooh, me, too!” Remy raised a hand.

Dorian glanced at Emile, and Emile nodded. 

Dorian sighed. “Fine.”

***

It had been a while since Thomas had had friends, and he still wasn’t used to it.

He hadn’t had close friends since high school – since before the worst moment of Thomas’s life. He’d lost his dads, he’d lost his friends, and he was left with only his brothers. Sure, he had his uncles and Missy and Peter, but his uncles weren’t his dads, and the age gap between the brothers and the baby twins had meant it had taken a while for them to grow close.

But now, Thomas had  Talyn and Joan.

They were great: fun to hang out with, and they didn’t seem to care about his past. And it was nice finally getting to spend time with people he didn’t feel like he had to take care of.

Thomas loved his brothers – of course, he did – they were the most important people in his life. But it was nice to finally get to relax. To not have to worry about anyone for just a little while.

“Ha, I won!”  Talyn cackled, dropping the controller into their lap and pumping their fists in the air.

Joan groaned. “Ah, fuck. I thought I had that one.”

“Language,” Thomas laughed.

Joan snorted, handing Thomas the controller. “It’s your turn to get your ass kicked.”

“Hey, I’m pretty good at this game. I might win!”

“In your dreams,”  Talyn shot back with a grin.

The trio had been playing video games in Thomas’s apartment together for a few hours, and Thomas was having a great time.  Talyn had suggested making it a  pyjama  party with onesies, but that brought back memories that Thomas didn’t want to deal with. Memories of movie nights and neckties over unicorn onesies... They’d been very understanding, of course, which made Thomas even more grateful that he now had them as friends.

Every ten minutes, he’d get a text from Emile – an update on Remy and his wound – or a text from Remy, himself, who was whining that Emile wasn’t letting him do anything, and asking Thomas to tell Emile to let him drink. Thomas refused. He had to be the responsible one, especially as Emile often listened to him. His brothers often followed his lead- even if they didn’t think they did- so he had to make sure he did what was best for them.

Eventually, Thomas, Joan and  Talyn decided to take a break for snacks. When Thomas headed over to the kitchen, his friends followed behind.

“So,” he asked, as he opened and began to look through the fridge. “How’s work?”

“Not bad,” Joan said. “We just got assigned to The Royal Flush case, ‘cos the last guy couldn’t figure it out, so they wanted a fresh pair of eyes on it.”

Thomas froze, and then immediately tried to pretend that he hadn’t. Luckily, neither Joan nor  Talyn seemed to notice.

“Oh? The Royal Flush? They’re, uh... they’re another one of those copycat groups, right?”

Joan blinked. “Oh, shit. Sorry. I forgot, you probably don’t  wanna talk about that.”

“It’s fine,” Thomas answered, probably too quickly. “I mean, I’m pretty used to it. Dorian’s talked to me about The Court Jesters’ case before, and they’re another group of copycats, right? It- it doesn’t bother me.”

Neither Joan nor  Talyn really looked like they believed him, but they thankfully didn’t point it out.

“Right...” Joan said.

Thomas coughed, clearing his throat. “ So. .. do you guys have any leads?”

“Not yet,”  Talyn shrugged, leaning back against a kitchen counter. “They’re pretty careful – a lot more than most of the other copycats we’ve seen. The main lead we’ve got is that it’s three men and a woman, but that information’s public, so it’s nothing new.”

Thomas hummed in agreement. “Mmm... yeah.”

He had a bad taste in his mouth. He genuinely liked  Talyn and Joan, he really didn’t like lying to them, even though he knew he had no other choice. Using them for information made him feel sick, too, but he knew that that was his best bet.

Thomas would send Dorian a text when he next got the chance – if he didn’t already know that Joan and  Talyn were on their case, it would be good to let him know. They could both keep an eye on their progress and sabotage the case if necessary. It was useful to have such close connections to the police. Even if using people like that made Thomas uncomfortable.

He took a deep breath, clenching his hands into fists to steady himself, swallowing his discomfort and turning back to  Talyn and Joan with a plastered smile on his face.

“Is there anything I can offer to help?” He asked. “I could be useful; I might have some insight on the case that no one else would. You know... given my history?”

The two looked between each other before giving him a shrug.

“As nice as that is, we’d rather not,” Joan said. “Some of it is a bit too sensitive, you know?”

“Plus, we don’t  wanna open old wounds,”  Talyn added gently. “You don’t have to help us with stuff like this just because you’ve been through it.”

“But if we get absolutely stuck, we’ll call you,” Joan finished. 

Thomas swallowed and nodded a little, unclenching his fists. He’d offered. It was smart. 

So why did he feel like he’d dodged a bullet?


	24. Chapter Twenty Three

“Do you trust me?” 

“What?” 

“Do you trust me?” 

Dorian hesitated for a moment, squinting suspiciously at his boyfriend, who was grinning at him. It was undoubtably mischievous – hence the suspicion – but Dorian did trust him. The way Nate was looking at him made him wonder if that was possibly an error, but he still trusted him. 

“...Yes.” 

“Your mistake!” Nate laughed, shoving the slice of cake into Dorian’s face. 

Dorian spluttered, pulling back and almost tipping over. He tried to snort out the icing that had gone up his nose, but it only half worked. 

“You _jerk_!” He said, when he finally got his mouth uncovered. “This is a new button-up, too!” 

Nate shrugged, unapologetic. “You’re the one who let me take you on a picnic.” 

“Ah, yes,” Dorian said flatly, grabbing a napkin to wipe his face clean. “This’ll teach me to let my boyfriend be cute,” he complained, definitely not pouting. 

“Damn right,” Nate said, his smile turning softer. 

Dorian huffed, balling up the cake-covered napkin. “What’s with that face?” He asked. 

“I just love when you call me your boyfriend,” Nate said. “It’s so... I don’t know. But it makes me happy.” 

Dorian threw the used napkin at him. “Sap.” 

“But you’re smiling!” 

“Irrelevant,” Dorian sniffed. “I was just thinking of something funny, that’s all.” 

“Oh? Like what?” 

“Your face,” Dorian lied. 

Nate chuckled. “Yeah, I bet you were.” 

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” 

“That it’s totally unsurprising that you smile when you think of me.” 

Dorian rolled his eyes, suppressing his smile. “You’re incorrigible.” 

“Only for you!” 

Dorian chuckled in spite of himself and leaned backwards, laying down and looking up at the clouds, using one arm under his head like a pillow. Nate joined him after a moment, threading their hands together. They lay and watched the clouds for a minute, Dorian feeling utterly at peace. 

“This is nice,” he said. 

“Even though I smashed cake in your face?” 

Dorian snorted. “Even though you smashed cake in my face,” he decided. “It tasted good, at least.” 

Nate smiled and leaned over, pressing a kiss to his cheek. 

“...You taste like buttercream.” 

“And whose fault is that?” 

*** 

“Here you go.” Dorian set down the second to-go cup of coffee. 

Nate grabbed it with a surprised smile. “Thanks! Is Remy finally feeling better, then?” 

“Yeah, thankfully,” Dorian said. “That pneumonia really took him out enough on its own, not to mention the broken leg. But now the ordeal is over, and I don’t have to listen to his whining anymore.” 

“Aw, you love him,” Nate teased, sipping his coffee. 

“Maybe some days.” 

“You do! It’s sweet how much you care about your brothers.” 

Dorian shrugged. “So, any updates on the case?” 

Nate sighed. “Well, they were reluctant to open it back up, so until we get any solid evidence we’re technically working on a closed case.” 

“I know.” 

“And you promise this isn’t just based just on you disliking the Pryce guy? Which is totally valid, by the way. That guy’s a creep.” 

“Promise. Call it a gut feeling, but I think this guy is tangled up in the Court Jester stuff.” 

Nate took another sip of coffee, thinking. “Well... he is strangely obsessed with your dad, so he fits the profile. But we’ll need something less circumstantial to pursue it.” 

“We’ll find it,” Dorian promised, though more to himself than to Nate. “There’s something there. I just know it.” 

Nate smiled at him and Dorian felt his face warm a little. 

“What?” He asked. 

“Nothing,” Nate said softly. “You’re just cute when you’re determined. You get this little crease in your eyebrows and your nose scrunches just a little. It’s adorable.” 

Dorian’s face got even warmer. 

“Shut up.” 

*** 

“So,” Dorian said. “What’s the verdict on the six-month anniversary celebration?” 

“I am a big fan!” Nate said happily. “This dinner is exceptional, though you didn’t have to get me the three kinds of pasta just because I couldn’t pick.” 

“That wasn’t because you couldn’t pick. The sample platter pasta was just more cost effective,” Dorian lied. 

“Uh-huh.” Nate smiled, absolutely not believing him. “Either way, I gotta say that I’m a fan of this anniversary thing.” 

Dorian smiled softly. “Good,” he said. “...There is one more surprise tonight.” 

Nate leaned forwards a little. “Oh? Whatever could that be?” 

Dorian waved down a waiter. “Sir? One tiramisu, please?” 

Nate gasped exaggeratedly, hand over heart with a grin, as the waiter walked away. “Are we sharing a dessert just like all those couples in the movies?” 

Dorian rolled his eyes. “This is hardly the first time we’ve shared food.” 

“Yes, but this is six-month anniversary food! That makes it six-month anniversary special!” 

“You’re ridiculous.” Dorian told him. 

“Thank you.” Nate chuckled. “So, what is this dessert we’re sharing?” 

“Tiramisu. It’s a sort of cake thing with coffee. But not coffee cake.” Dorian explained. 

“Yum! Can I feed you some from my fork?” 

“Absolutely not,” Dorian lied with a sniff. “Disgusting. Get away from me.” 

Nate grinned, seeming to understand that Dorian would let him do that, despite what he was saying. He had a knack for that – a knack that not even Dorian’s brothers always had. Dorian didn’t think he’d ever tire of the way that Nate made him feel so thoroughly understood. Even if... well, even if there were aspects of himself that Dorian could never make him understand or even have a hope of explaining. 

Dorian’s eyes dropped down to the table, suddenly feeling a bit sour. He messed with his fork a little, circling the edge of the plate, even though any pasta that had been on his plate was long gone. 

Nate’s hand covered his own and Dorian blinked, looking up at him. Nate’s eyes were concerned but gentle. A small smile played across his lips as he tried to reassure Dorian before he even knew what was wrong. 

“Hey,” he said softly. “What are you thinking about?” 

Dorian took a deep breath, thinking about how to answer. 

“...The past. The future. The intersection of the two that we call the present and how temporary that really is.” 

“That’s kinda bleak for a six-month anniversary date,” Nate commented, running his thumb over Dorian’s knuckles. 

Dorian shrugged. “Sorry.” 

Nate shook his head. “I didn’t say it was a bad thing. You feeling okay?” 

Dorian considered the question a moment. He smiled, squeezing Nate’s hand a little. 

“I am. I just feel lucky to have you.” 

Nate’s smile widened. He leaned over the table and pressed a quick kiss against Dorian’s lips. And Dorian suddenly did, in fact, feel lucky. It was difficult to be pessimistic when Nate was kissing him. 

*** 

“How much are you prepared to spend on our next date?” 

Dorian blinked and leaned around his desk to give Nate an incredulous, though slightly amused look. 

“I didn’t know I was buying next time.” 

Nate grinned. “Not only are you paying, but I’m about to get the biggest kiss known to man.” 

Dorian raised his brows. “Oh? And what would bring on such a kiss?” 

“Well! You know how your boyfriend is super smart?” 

Dorian rolled his eyes but nodded. Nate grinned, and it was wide and contagious enough for Dorian to smile back. 

“Well, I was smart enough to comb through the receipts of local fabric stores for anywhere that sold a bunch of jester-colored fabric up to five months before the Court Jesters made their first appearance. Lo and behold, a Mr. Pryce Kingsley made a purchase of a dozen bolts in each color, about three months before their first kill!” Nate’s grin broadened. “He works fast, I’ll give him that, but you have to work faster to get ahead of me.” 

“Holy shit, really?” Dorian exclaimed, raising his eyebrows and leaning forward. 

“See for yourself,” Nate waved a hand at his desktop screen. He pushed his chair back away from his desk. 

Dorian sprung up and quickly moved around the desks. He peered at Nate’s screen, confirming what Nate had just told him. He then let out a stunned laugh, his expression turned delighted, and he threw his arms around Nate’s neck. 

“Nate, this is incredible!” 

“I know, I know,” Nate said, continuing to grin and not even pretending to be modest. “It wasn’t easy either. Can a hero get his reward kisses?” 

Dorian laughed and pecked his cheek. “It’s just enough to let us look into him more! Holy shit, I love you so much, thank you! 

“No prob-” Nate cut himself off, blinking. “Wait, you what?” 

“Hm?” 

“...You said...” 

Dorian blinked. He took a moment, confused, but then his words clicked. His face went pink, and he stumbled over his words for a second or two. 

“Oh. Um... It doesn’t have to mean- you don’t have to say it back, if you- I know it’s-” 

“Hey,” Nate said, reaching up and cupping Dorian’s cheek. “I love you too,” he said firmly. 

Dorian blinked at him. Then, his face broke out into a grin, and he leaned down to trap Nate’s lips in his own. 

“I love you...” he repeated between kisses. 

*** 

“I love you,” they would whisper in the twilight. 

“I love you,” they’d say in the morning. 

“I love you,” they’d promise when they tangled together. 

“I love you,” they’d swear the mornings after. 

“I love you,” they’d say. 

“I love you.” 

It became their hello, their goodbye, their just because, their reason for doing mundane things, their reason for big things. 

For the first time in his life, Dorian understood why his dads could barely keep their hands and lips off of one another. If they had even a fraction of the happiness that Dorian felt now, then they had been the luckiest men in the world. 

Scratch that. The second luckiest. Because there was no way that with a heart as light as his, Dorian wasn’t the luckiest person alive. 

Call him a sap, but Nate made him feel... so important: so, so loved in a way that he hadn't before. Oh, he hadn’t been unloved before, but this was different. This was a new and different kind of love – one he’d never had with any of the other people that he’d dated. 

Nate was unlike anyone else he’d ever been with. Nate listened and took his time and made sure that Dorian did, too. Nate knew that there was darkness in his past, but didn’t care. Nate saw through all his little white lies, but didn’t press the bigger lies he told, even when Dorian knew he could tell when he was lying. 

And more importantly, he – without doing anything, through simply existing and loving – made Dorian feel like he didn’t have to lie at all. 

Not even his brothers made Dorian feel like that. Even though he didn’t really have to lie to them, they didn’t make him feel like lying was totally and completely unnecessary the way that Nate did. Not that he didn’t trust them – he loved his brothers, and he trusted them, too. They were his family. 

It was just that so much of their lives had, for so long, been wrapped in a sticky web of lies, and it was impossible to separate the people he loved from the lies that he didn’t. 

But with Nate? With Nate there wasn’t any of that. Or at least not as much of it. With Nate it all felt so much simpler, so much easier. 

And Dorian was just as addicted to that feeling as he was to the feeling of Nate’s lips against his own. 

He couldn’t help it. Every aspect of Nate was just so beautiful. How could he not be completely head over heels for him? 

Even if Dorian had known how to slow his falling for Nate, he was certain he wouldn’t have. He trusted Nate more than he had ever trusted someone before. 

...And he hated that there was a caveat to that trust. 


	25. Chapter Twenty Four

“You don’t have to do this. You know that, right?” Nate said softly. “We can figure out another way to catch Pryce – one that’s not as...  uncomfortable .”

Dorian sighed. “But it’s our best bet. He’s good, really good at what he does, and he’ll just keep getting away with it unless we stop him. We can’t just wait around for some other piece of evidence to crop up, we’ve got to get a confession out of him.” He looked down at his hands in his lap, clenching them into tight fists.  “And he’ll only confess to me . You know that.”

Nate covered one of Dorian’s hands with his own, prompting Dorian to look at him. His expression was soft, comforting, and it reassured Dorian enough that he relaxed slightly.

“We can find another way,” Nate repeated.

Dorian hesitated for a moment, before shaking his head. “No. I have to do this.”

“Okay.” Nate nodded. “But I’ll be close by, remember? And you remember the word you have to say when you want me to come in?”

“Yeah. Prince.”

“And you’re sure that’s the one you want to use?”

Dorian nodded firmly. “Yes.”

“I can come in with you if you want me to. Really, you don’t have to deal with him alone.”

“Nate,” Dorian said. “It won’t work with you there. And I’ll be fine, I’ve dealt with worse than just one creep who thinks he knows me.”

Nate sighed. “Alright,” he said. “It’s- I trust you. You can do this; I just wish you didn’t have to. But at least I’ll still be able to hear everything you two say, so if anything goes wrong-”

“You’ll be there,” Dorian finished, with a small – though slightly sad – smile. “I know.”

“Exactly.”  Nate shifted, taking Dorian’s closest hand into one of his own. He lifted it to his lips, kissing the knuckle in a gesture that made Dorian’s heart ache with fondness and love. “You aren’t alone in this.”

How had Dorian gotten so lucky?

“Yeah,” Dorian said, in a voice so soft it was almost unfamiliar to him – though not really, not anymore. 

With Nate, he found himself feeling softer and happier and  _ safer  _ than he’d ever thought he’d feel again. 

“I know.” 

He paused for a second, before he remembered that he could actually  _ voice  _ his feelings, which somehow came so naturally whenever he was with Nate, even though he often hesitated. 

“I love you.”

Nate smiled. “I love you, too.”

It had been difficult- after that- tearing himself away from Nate. A bitter taste formed on his tongue the moment they parted, and he started to make his way towards Pryce’s costume shop. When he eventually stepped inside – having had to force himself through the door, as it was the last place he wanted to be – he grew nauseous. That only worsened when Pryce immediately noticed him, perking up and plastering that fake, Roman-like smile on his face.

Dorian wanted to tear that smile right off his face, and he wanted to make it  _ hurt _ . He wanted to see the look on his face when he realised that he’d never meet Roman. And that if he ever did, Roman would  _ despise  _ him. Dorian wanted to tear apart that prince costume that Pryce was wearing, a cheap imitation of Roman’s prince outfit – likely as close as he could get away with and based on videos and pictures alone. It was missing all the details that really made the costume special. The true red of the sash and the embroidery around the cuffs that Papa had been so proud of.

Dorian wanted to cover that costume in blood. To make it and Pryce unrecognisable. To hurt him until he was just a bloody mess on the floor.

Imagining that scenario made Dorian feel a little better, and he managed to fix a smile onto his face that was only mostly fake. He made his way over to the counter, just as a mother and her children – the only other customers in the store – left through the front door.

“Hey! Pryce, wasn’t it? I didn’t know you worked here,” Dorian lied through his teeth. “It’s good to see you again.”

Pryce beamed at him.

He hadn’t seemed to have expected that from him, so his smile was a lot less fake, a lot less like Roman’s, and he seemed genuinely happy to see Dorian. That made Dorian relax slightly, though he was still on edge.

“Yeah! That’s me,” Pryce said, leaning forward with his elbows on the counter. It made Dorian want to take a step back, though he managed to keep himself in place. “Wow. Small world, huh?”

“Right.”

There was a beat.

Awkward silence, though Pryce couldn’t seem to tell just how awkward it was. Dorian was a good actor, after all. He’d learned from the best.

(And it definitely wasn’t something Pryce could mimic from just watching a few short interviews.)

“So, what can I get for you?”

“Oh, I’m, uh... looking for a costume.”

“Well, that is what I sell here,” Pryce said, in a cheerful, joking tone that made it clear he was expecting Dorian to laugh.

Dorian faked a laugh that seemed to convince Pryce. “Yeah, well... I’m looking for something a little... different, to most of what you sell here.”

Pryce’s eyes lit up, and he raised an eyebrow, leaning in.

“Oh?”

“Something... sturdier,” Dorian said slowly. “Preferably royal-themed. And I’ll be paying in cash.”

“Ah... off the record, I see.”

“Exactly.”

Pryce looked even more excited at that. “Getting back in the business?”

Dorian hummed, and Pryce seemed to take it as confirmation.

(Oh, what a fool Pryce was. He’d never left.)

“Wonderful!” Pryce straightened up, laughing delightedly and clapping his hands together. “Oh, I know  _ exactly  _ what I’ll do for you. You came to the right man, I promise you.”

“Done this before, then?”

Pryce leant in again. He winked at Dorian, which was a gesture that made him feel sick to his stomach, though he made sure not to let that show on his face.  He swallowed his disgust and continued to fake a smile as he put his hands in his pockets to keep himself from strangling Pryce.

“Oh, a man’s  gotta have his secrets,” Pryce teased. He then looked Dorian up and down, slowly and clearly checking him out. “But, I suppose, maybe you could convince me to spill a few?”

Dorian squeezed his hands into fists, glad they were stuffed in his pockets.

“Maybe,” he repeated, because he knew if he said much more, he’d likely end up yelling at the other man.

Pryce paused. “Are you still dating that, uh... that cop guy?”

Dorian knew he should’ve probably lied at that, but he just couldn’t bring himself to. His relationship with Nate was the only thing he could focus on that comforted him in that moment, and so it was impossible to do anything but be honest about it.

“Yes, I am.”

Pryce hummed. “Good, good. He’s useful for intel. And not that bad looking, either, I suppose.”

That was the understatement of the century.

The longer Dorian stood with Pryce, the less Pryce seemed to act like Roman, and the less his smile and mannerisms seemed to mirror his Papa’s, either. He seemed much more genuine – with an amused grin that only looked like Roman’s if he really searched for similarities, and Dorian was doing his best to ignore them.

“I guess you really are following in your Papa’s footsteps, huh?” Pryce continued with a laugh. “In a relationship with a cop, and now you’re going to continue his legacy, too. How wonderful!” He then leant in close again, biting his lip as he blatantly checked Dorian out again. “Do you, uh... do you do the polyamorous thing, too? Your  _ boyfriend –  _ or whatever he really is to you – doesn't have to know.”

Dorian was going to tear Pryce’s eyes out.

He was going to tear Pryce’s eyes out and shove them down his throat, so the last thing that this disgusting, creepy, pathetic, bad-imitation-of-a-man-so-much-better-than-him would see would be how much Dorian  _ despised  _ him.

Dorian forced a laugh that he was sure wasn’t that convincing.

Pryce didn’t seem to notice his dishonesty, and just continued to smile at him. If anything, he seemed disgustingly encouraged.

“Oh, I have  _ so  _ much I want to show you,” Pryce continued. He was so focused on himself and his fantasy that he hardly seemed to notice that Dorian had stopped talking. “I have so many things in the back – pictures of the things I’ve done. My shrine to the  _ god  _ that was Roman Sanders. I have  _ got  _ to show you them.”

“Sure,” Dorian forced out.

Pryce grinned at him. “You’re not the only one whose been following in your Papa’s footsteps, continuing his legacy. More heirs to his throne, you know?”

Well, he was right about that. But Dorian and his brothers were the only ones doing it successfully.

“Right,” Dorian spoke through gritted teeth. “So, in the back, that’s where you keep everything?”

Pryce nodded eagerly. “Yup! Costumes, photographs, you name it. Everything’s hidden there, I didn’t  wanna risk keeping it at home, and I can show you it  _ all.” _

_ “ _ Wow. You’re... you’re really into this, huh? You’re practically a new Prince.”

Pryce grinned at him – suddenly back to the disturbing Roman-like one. Dorian wanted to punch his teeth in. To cut out his tongue and make him choke on it.

That was when Nate burst in through the front door.

Pryce froze like a deer in headlights, and he didn’t seem to understand what was going on until the handcuffs clicked in place. He started to struggle, but Nate was much stronger than him.

“What? Ouch! Those are too tight, you’re hurting me!”

“Pity,” Nate spat out. “Pryce Kingsley, you’re under arrest. You have the right to remain silent, everything you say or do can be used against you in a court of law.”

In that moment, Dorian was so overcome with relief that he hardly heard the rest of what Nate was saying.  He wasn’t paying much more attention to the drive back to the precinct – in different cars, at Nate’s insistence, so Dorian wouldn’t have to interact with Pryce any more than he had to.

He was grateful for that, though the distance from Nate didn’t help the way he felt.

He was so overwhelmed that he didn’t speak again – any words dying in his throat – until after they’d made it back to the precinct, and Nate took him into some private corner, pulling him into his arms and letting Dorian crumple against his chest.

Dorian didn’t cry, but it was a close.

“That was shitty,” he mumbled into Nate’s chest.

“Yeah, I know, baby,” Nate spoke softly, running his fingers through Dorian’s loose hair. “I heard everything.”

“I hate him.”

“Me, too. But you never have to see him again. I bet we’ll have enough evidence in the back of his shop and at his apartment to lock him away in jail. And even if he doesn’t go away for that long, you can file a restraining order. You never have to see that  _ bastard  _ again.”

Dorian pulled away just enough to look at Nate’s face, keeping his arms wrapped around his boyfriend’s waist, holding him tight and never wanting to let go again.

“But... the rest of the case...”

“I’ll finish it,” Nate said firmly, reaching out and tucking a stray strand of hair out of Dorian’s face, tucking it behind his ear. “I’ll handle the rest of it.”

“But-”

“Hey, no buts. I can handle it.”

Dorian closed his mouth.

In the back of his mind, he remembered Pryce’s mention of photographs, and he thought back to the time when he interacted with Pryce as the Jack. Pryce might’ve had evidence that could lead to Dorian or his brothers. He couldn’t risk Nate finding that.

Though...

No, Dorian couldn’t risk Nate finding any photograph that would lead to him.

“The photographs...” 

He didn’t realise he said that aloud until Nate responded.

“Huh?”

Dorian swallowed. “Pryce, he, uh... he mentioned having photographs in the back of his store. I want to look through those, but you can handle the rest... if you insist.”

Nate paused for a moment, searching Dorian’s face for something.

Dorian couldn’t tell if he found what he was looking for or not.

“I do. I do insist,” he said. “You can handle the photographs; I’ll look through the rest and go to Pryce’s place and see if he’s got anything else there.”

“Okay,” Dorian nodded. “And we can share the paperwork.”

“Alright.” Nate smiled slightly. He then leant forward, pressing a quick, warm kiss to the centre of Dorian’s forehead, making him feel slightly better, his heart turning to mush. “I, uh... I asked Joan and  Talyn to finish interrogating Pryce for us. So, come on, I’m taking you out to get coffee. I think we both could use it.”

“Yeah,” Dorian agreed. “And, uh... Nate?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

Nate smiled again, softly. “I love you, too.”


	26. Chapter Twenty Five

“Sorry, not sorry!” Emile said cheerfully, laying down his third skip card with a bright laugh.

“You,  _ ass _ !” Remy exclaimed, throwing his hands up into the air and almost dropping his cards. “What the fuck? I’m never sitting next to you again.”

Emile shrugged unapologetically and with a smile. “Your mistake.”

“It’s not like the rest of us are faring better,” Thomas said, disgruntled. 

“You’re just mad because you forgot to say uno three times in a row.” Emile waved a hand dismissively, still grinning victoriously at his bitter brothers. 

“Well,  _ duh _ !”

Dorian snorted a little at the three of them and laid down a card. They’d been at this game for about an hour now, but that was par for the course in their family. The Sanders Brothers were a competitive group, and got a lot more into card games and board games than was likely necessary. Emile won more often than the rest, though it did depend on the game.

Dorian had always been the best at bluffing.

What wasn’t par for the course was Dorian being as quiet as he had been. He’d been barely protesting to being skipped or drawing cards, and not calling anyone out when they forgot to say that they only had one card left. He’d not even been contributing to banter the way he normally would. 

So far, his brothers had seemed to have chalked it up to Pryce’s recent arrest and how that went down, which they’d been informed about. Remy had been pissed that they hadn’t just killed him, and that he hadn’t gotten a chance to deck the guy for the bullet wound, though Emile had managed to successfully calm him down afterwards.  And until Dorian worked up the courage to finally say what he was really thinking about, he’d let them keep believing that that was all that was on his mind. 

The truth was harder.

The truth wasn’t something that he really wanted to share.

The truth was that he was about to start an argument that he wasn’t sure he’d win. And not in an ‘I’m about to make you draw thirty-seven cards’ way. That would be simple, that could be managed. 

No, the argument he was going to start was of the ‘I want to repeat the mistakes of our past, and hopefully not fuck everything up again’ kind. 

Well, okay. That wasn’t totally true. He’d already inadvertently caused their family to split up once, and causing it again was his worst nightmare. Losing the rest of his already too-small family would completely destroy Dorian. So, no, he didn’t actually  _ want _ to start this argument.

Nor did he really want to repeat the mistakes of their past.

But... but, but, but... 

He was tired of it. He was tired of the best thing that had ever happened to him being coated in an outer shell of lies. He was tired of every sour-tasting lie that spoiled the moments he spent with one of the most important people in his life. His hands were coated in blood and they always would be – that had been the case since he was eleven years old. That had been his  _ choice _ . He knew that that kind of life came with secrets, and usually he was fine with that. Usually deception came naturally to him, and it didn’t bother him at all. Lying was what he  _ excelled  _ at.

But, with Nate? Something about him made Dorian want to come clean. Maybe this is what being in love was like. Maybe he just wasn’t as strong as his Papa had been. Roman had kept his secrets for years and years of marriage, and had hardly seemed bothered by it. Maybe Dorian was just tired of swimming in secrets. 

He knew what the possible consequences of his decision could be. But...

“I want to tell Nate.” 

The words burst out of him before he’d coalesced them into a single thought. The conversation around the table came to a screeching halt – the joke Emile had been halfway through telling hanging unfinished in the air. All eyes were on Dorian.

He squeezed his eyes tight shut for a moment, almost regretting the words the moment they left his throat. But they were still true, and he knew that this conversation had to happen.

Dorian opened his eyes and cleared his throat. “I want to tell him,” he said hesitantly. “About- about everything. All of it. I’m... I’m just sick of him not knowing.”

They stared at him for a long, painfully uncomfortable moment. Then, Remy barked a short laugh.

“You’re joking, right?” He asked. “This is some kind of prank?”

Remy's tone had been both disbelieving and slightly mocking. It took more than Dorian would ever admit to keep himself from flinching at the words he’d known had been coming.

Dorian shook his head. 

Thomas sighed. “Dor, I know how you feel but we can’t let that happen,” he spoke in a voice that was stern, but trying to be gentle. “That’s not on the table.”

Dorian scowled. “And why not?”

“Well, for one thing he’s a cop,” Remy said, rolling his eyes.

“So? Technically speaking so am I.”

“Yes, but you’re our family,” Emile explained in that voice that was clearly supposed to be sympathetic, but Dorian could tell was trying to hide that he was unhappy, maybe even ticked off. “Nate isn’t. So, he can’t find out.”

“Okay, I’m sorry. When did I enter the  _ Godfather movies?”  _ Dorian exclaimed, standing up and dropping his cards onto the table. Half of them slid onto the ground, but he didn’t care. He crossed his arms, glaring at his brothers, but Emile in particular. “Why are you the only one who can have a boyfriend that knows what’s going on?”

“Toby doesn’t know!”

“Oh, how  _ dumb _ do you think he is?” Dorian snapped. “He’s known you and Remy practically our whole lives, there’s no way he didn’t put it all together. And you told us about that conversation you had the last time you saw each other before the split. Of course, he figured it out, you basically gave it away!”

Emile’s eyes widened as he stammered to string together some kind of argument. He stumbled over his words, his mouth opening and closing. But before he could finally find proper words, Thomas pressed his hands against the table, drawing their eyes to him.

“The answer is no, Dorian,” he said with aggressive finality, in a tone that just made Dorian angry. “If people can puzzle it out, fine. But we aren’t telling anyone, we’ve all seen what that gets us. So, no.”

Dorian worked his jaw a little and took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. You seem to be under the impression I was asking permission,” he said coldly.

His brothers balked. 

“No-”

“You can’t seriously-”

“There’s no way-”

“Under absolutely no circumstances-”

“That’s insane!”

“I expressly forbid-”

“ _ Absolutely not _ !”

Around and around and around it went. They yelled. They tried to convince Dorian to change his mind, to listen and give in. Remy was angry. Thomas and Emile were, too, but they just tried to reason with him. And Dorian just stood there silently. He contemplated the merits of just picking himself up and walking out, but he knew they’d follow him: if not immediately, then soon after. 

He tried to tune them out. He really did...

“This is just like you.”

But Remy saying that made something  _ snap. _

“Okay, stop right the fuck there!” He growled, interrupting his brothers. “I know what you mean. I know where you’re coming from. Can’t you at least try to see where  _ I’m  _ coming from? Nate is... no one has ever made me feel the way that he does. I think he might understand, and I don’t think I can stand lying to him anymore!”

“I don’t care,” Thomas said, sounding frustrated, and harsher than Dorian had heard him in a long, long time. “I’m not losing the only family I have left, just because you fell for some guy.”

“He is not just some  _ guy _ !” Dorian yelled. “He-”

“Unless you get a ring, he can’t know,” Thomas interrupted, almost shouting. “And that’s  _ final _ .”

Dorian stomped his foot, his stomach boiling. “Fine. I suppose father knows best, don’t you?  _ Oh, wait.” _

Thomas’ face dropped and Emile glared at  Dorian. 

Emile  took a step towards him. “Uncalled for.” 

“Oh, take a look in the mirror and then tell me what was called for.” Dorian snapped, taking a step back and continuing to glare at his big brothers. “I’m going home. You can consider this game of uno lost on my side. Just like half the things I  _ actually  _ care about.”

“Dorian, wait!”

Dorian didn’t wait. He was out of the door as soon as the words fell out of his mouth. His eyes pricked hot with tears as he hurried down the sidewalk and as far away from  _ them  _ as he could get. It wouldn’t be far. He knew it wouldn’t. His family’s reach was longer than the longest arm of the law. He could never really escape them, and he never really wanted to. But, right now, he had to get away.

He couldn’t go to his home; his brothers would only follow. But he could keep going. Keep walking. He didn’t know where to. Just... away. Far away. If he was around anyone with a ‘Sanders’ last name for a moment longer, he was going to stick knives where the sun isn’t capable of shining.

He loved them; he knew he did. But currently he couldn’t stand them. 

Dorian scrubbed at his eyes with his fists, refusing to let himself cry.

One thing.  _ One fucking thing _ . That was all he asked for. But, no, apparently any dreams he had were off limits. Fine. Just...  _ fine _ . He’d cope. Sure. Fine.

...No.

No, actually. It wasn’t fine at all. He was sick of this. Sick of the lies, sick of half-truths, sick – to some degree – of his family and being talked down to by them. That wasn’t fine. It wasn’t fine at all.

There was just one person in the whole world who Dorian still trusted, who he wasn’t incredibly and overwhelmingly angry at, right now.

One person who he knew he couldn’t keep lying to.

Luckily, Janus Dorian Sanders had never been a man who was good at what other people told him to do.


	27. Chapter Twenty Six

Dorian stopped in his tracks. 

He looked around at his surroundings, double checking that his brothers weren’t anywhere in sight, before he ducked into an alleyway, pulling out his phone. He opened the text message conversation with Nate – his most recent one – and  immediately felt slightly better at the sight of his last message from his boyfriend, which was a short ‘I love you.’ Sent in place of a goodbye with a little heart at the end for good measure.

Dorian took a moment, taking a deep breath, before he sent Nate a text.

** Dorian **

_ Where are you  _ _ rn _ _? _

It didn’t take long for him to receive a text back.

** Nate **

_ precinct _

_ why? _

** Dorian **

_ we need to talk _

The moment he sent that message, he almost regretted it. That phrasing was a little harsh, but it got the point across. He just hoped Nate didn’t assume that Dorian was about to dump him, or anything like that. That was the last thing Dorian wanted to do, though a little anxiety in the back of his mind told him that maybe Nate would dump  _ him  _ after this.

Then, his phone went off, and he was pulled back out of his thoughts. He checked the conversation with Nate, but there wasn’t a response to that yet. Instead, he had a message from the group chat he was in with all three of his brothers.

...

He opened it.

** Remy **

_ u tell  _ _ nate _ _ and ill fucking kill him _

_ dont _ _ test me _

_ ill cut out his tongue _

_ and shoot him before he can talk _

_ dont _ _ u fucking dare _

** Emile **

_ Slow down Remy _

_ Dorian think about this _

_ You cant tell Nate _

_ Please _

Dorian glared at his phone, clenching his free hand into a tight fist. He had the immediate impulse to throw his phone at the wall and smash it, but he ignored it. He still had to get a text back from Nate, so he couldn’t. Instead, he left the group chat, and blocked all three of his brothers before they could add him back or send him individual messages. They had extra phones, of course, but that would take them longer.

A moment passed, and then he finally received a text back from Nate.

** Nate **

_ are you okay? _

** Dorian **

_ fine _

If everything went to plan, that would be the last lie Dorian would ever have to tell Nate. He was almost excited, but he still couldn’t shake the anxiety in his gut.

** Dorian **

_ Im _ _ not far _

_ Meet me out front in 20 minutes? _

This time, the response from Nate was almost instantaneous

** Nate **

_ sure _

Dorian let out a sigh of relief. Then, he pocketed his phone, and began his walk towards the police precinct. He didn’t run, but he did walk at quite a quick pace. The journey was short enough but did leave him enough time to stew in his thoughts.

Was this really a good idea?

His brothers certainly didn’t seem to think so, and usually Dorian would trust their advice.

But Dorian loved Nate. He  _ trusted  _ Nate. He was certain that Nate would never betray him, despite what his brothers might think. And he was almost certain that Nate wouldn’t react too negatively to the reveal of this family secret. Given his reaction to the death of that despicable woman, and how he’d let the Jack go, even without knowing that it was Dorian behind that mask, Dorian was almost sure that Nate would understand.

Almost. There was still that anxiety – that was taking the form of his family’s voices – whispering in the back of his head, telling him what a bad idea this was.

But Dorian trusted Nate.

Nate trusted Dorian. And he deserved so much better than Dorian continuing to lie to him. He deserved to know the truth. Their relationship would never last with all those secrets and lies creeping around the edges, that they both knew were there.

Nate knew Dorian was hiding something. He never complained, never pushed past Dorian’s boundaries or asked questions he knew his boyfriend wouldn’t want to answer.

He was so, so patient. Dorian loved him for it.

So, he was going to tell him the truth. He was going to tell him  _ everything _ .

When Dorian arrived at the precinct, Nate was already waiting outside for him. He spotted him almost immediately, and straightened up as he watched Dorian approach.

As soon as Dorian got close enough for Nate to see his face, Nate’s brow creased with concern. And when Dorian stopped in front of him, he reached out, carefully touching Dorian’s cheek with a hand so gentle that it would’ve made Dorian melt on the spot in any other moment.

“You’ve been crying,” Nate said softly. “What’s wrong?”

Dorian swallowed. “I... I had a fight with my brothers.” He then shook his head. “Actually, it doesn’t matter. Can we go somewhere private? I need to talk to you about something.”

Nate nodded slowly, still looking at him with that soft, concerned expression that made Dorian feel simultaneously so, so fond, and so, so guilty. He then reached out, taking Dorian’s hand and squeezing it.

“Lead the way.”

Dorian immediately knew exactly where to take him.

There was a spot, just outside the precinct, that was far enough from the parking lot, away from any windows and doors but between two buildings, and in a place where people didn’t walk by. Dorian and Nate had gone there to have private conversations or – more often than Dorian would ever admit – make out breaks in-between work, and they’d never once been interrupted.

It was the perfect place. Dorian’s apartment, and Nate’s, too, would be the first places that his brothers would look for them. They’d never think that Dorian would have a conversation like that by the precinct.

And, even if they did, they didn’t know about this spot.

When they stopped at the spot, Dorian dropped Nate’s hand without really thinking about it. He began to wring his hands together anxiously and glanced away from Nate.

Nate made a quiet, concerned sound, that Dorian almost didn’t hear. “Are you okay, babe? Come on. Talk to me, please?”

Dorian met his eyes.

He took a deep breath, slowly, trying to calm his nerves. It didn’t really work.

“I... have something I need to tell you.”

“Okay...” Nate said slowly. “What is it?”

“It’s- it’s big. Really big. And I don’t know how you’ll react.” Dorian sighed, reaching up and running his fingers through his hair nervously. He let out a short, humourless laugh. “My brothers told me not to tell you this. They got... really mad. They said some things about me and about you that really hurt, so I stormed off. They might be right. I don’t know. I-” his voice cracked, and he looked away, feeling the traitorous tears prick in his eyes again. “I love you, and I can’t keep hiding this part of my life from you.”

Nate immediately took a step forward. He opened his arms, and Dorian fell into them automatically, burying his face in his boyfriend’s chest and letting Nate mumble reassuring words into his ear, rubbing soothing circles on his back.

“I love you, too,” Nate said. “And it’s okay. You can tell me anything.”

Dorian believed him. He really, really believed him. 

But that didn’t make this conversation any easier.

“You might break up with me for this,” Dorian muttered into Nate’s t-shirt, only just loud enough for his boyfriend to hear. “You might hate me.”

Nate pulled back enough to look Dorian in the eye. His expression was firm, but gentle, and that was mirrored in his tone of voice.

“I won’t.”

“You don’t know what I’m about to say.”

“But I know you. And I know there’s nothing you can tell me that will make me want to break up with you,” he said. “I could never hate you. I love you too much.” He brushed a thumb across Dorian’s cheek, wiping away a tear.

Dorian took a shaky breath.

He took a moment, savouring Nate’s touch like someone eating a favourite dessert that they knew they would never get to eat again. Then, he pulled away, taking a step back. Nate seemed hesitant to let him go, but did so without verbal complaint.

He took another slow, deep and shaky breath, clenching his hands into fists.

Dorian snuck a glance at the entrance of the alleyway – checking that there were no cops or brothers nearby. There wasn’t, so he turned back to Nate.

“You remember the Royal Court case?”

Nate nodded. “Yes?”

“That’s...” Dorian took a moment to think over his words carefully. “There were... certain parts of that case that... that my family lied about. My-” he swallowed. “My Papa never made any of us do anything. That was just a cover.”

Nate nodded again, slower this time.

His expression was mostly unreadable – which pained Dorian and made him feel almost sick with anxiety. He looked like he didn’t know how to react, but mostly like he was just thinking.

Dorian didn’t like it, but Nate wasn’t running away or yelling at him. It was a start, though the conflicting relief and worry that battled inside of him – like his mind was at war with itself – was disorienting, to say the least.

“Okay,” Nate said eventually. “I- I assume that’s not everything. Right?”

“You are correct.”

“Alright... what else?”

Dorian took another deep breath. He watched Nate’s face for another few moments, before he finally got the nerve to continue.

“And- and we never stopped,” he admitted. “The- the murder. The vigilantism. Whatever you  wanna call it. We never stopped.  _ I  _ never stopped.”

“You still kill people?”

Nate’s tone wasn’t accusatory, only questioning, but it was like a dagger had slipped from his lips, burying itself in Dorian’s heart. He hadn’t expected this to be so difficult, to hurt this much. He couldn’t tell what Nate was thinking, and it was destroying him from the inside out. 

He got it now. He understood why Papa kept it hidden. 

Dorian nodded. “Yes. I do. But- but bad people,” he rushed to add. “The- the ones who get away with horrible things. I mean, god knows the system’s broken. You and I see that every day. It hurts the people who don’t deserve it and lets so many evil people keep destroying lives. Abusers, rapists, murderers. The kinds of people who get what’s coming to them.”

“You killed her,” Nate realised. “That- that-  _ her.  _ That was you.”

“Yes.”

“That-” Nate let out a short humourless laugh, dragging his hand down his face with an expression that made Dorian feel desperate to comfort him. “Wow. Huh.” He looked back at Dorian with an equally humourless smile. “I guess I already thanked you for that, didn’t I?”

“You did.”

“Which makes you the Jack... of- of- spades or clubs or something.”

“Diamonds.”

“Right.” Nate looked around, running his fingers through his hair, messing it up. Dorian got the urge to reach up and fix it for him but didn’t know if stepping closer would be the best move. “ So. .. you’re part of the Royal Flush. Joan and  Talyn’s case.”

Dorian nodded. “Yeah.”

“Your brothers, too?”

Dorian hesitated. “...Yes.”

“Right, right... that- that makes sense.” Nate nodded along. “ So. .. so who’s the chick? The, uh- uh... what’s the alias?”

“Queen of Clubs,” Dorian said. “And that’s  Em . We take turns  leaving  the Joker card.”

“Right. Smart.”

Then there was silence. A heavy, awkward silence that had Dorian fidgeting uncomfortably. It was unfamiliar for them. Usually Nate made things so comfortable and cheerful, but now Dorian had ruined things.

Had he ruined things, though?

Nate hadn’t left yet. He didn’t look afraid or angry or betrayed. He was just...

Dorian couldn’t tell. But he was still hopeful. If only because without hope all of this was for nothing.

“Are you... are you okay?” Dorian asked cautiously.

“I- I don’t know,” Nate admitted. “I shouldn’t be. I really,  _ really  _ shouldn’t be okay with this. But... I know she deserved it. And,  _ fuck _ , I’m so glad you killed her. I understand that. I- I won’t pretend to understand most of this, but I understand that. And I guess... well, I don’t like the idea of murder, but... but if the rest of your victims are like her, then...”

“They are,” Dorian said firmly. “We make sure they are. We wouldn’t be at this if they weren’t.”

“Okay... that’s... that’s okay.”

“Is it?”

“I don’t know. I think... I think I need some time,” Nate said. “To think about it, you know?”

“Okay. I- I understand. Take all the time you need.”

Nate smiled slightly at Dorian. It wasn’t the smile he usually got, but it was a smile nonetheless, and it made Dorian feel a little better. Not much, but it was something.

Dorian rubbed his arms with his hands. “Do you...” he hesitated. “Do you still love me?”

Nate’s expression softened. “Of course, I still love you, Jan. I- I already told you that nothing could change that.”

“And you won’t tell anyone? ‘Cos-”

“I won’t,” Nate reassured. “I promise.”

Dorian relaxed slightly. “Thank you.”

Nate paused for a moment, looking indecisively at Dorian, like he wasn’t sure what to do. Then, he took a step towards his boyfriend. He gently cupped Dorian’s face in both hands, and he leant forward, placing a quick, soft kiss to the centre of Dorian’s forehead.

It wasn’t much, but it was something.

“Okay,” Nate said.

“Okay,” Dorian repeated.

Then, Nate left the alleyway, turning back towards the precinct building.

Dorian slumped against the wall, burying his face in his hands.

Nate didn’t hate him. Nate... Nate didn’t hate him. He hadn’t reacted too negatively, and he said he understood. He still loved Dorian, and he hadn’t broken up with him.

Dorian smiled shakily into the palms of his hands. 

He was so glad he’d done this.

And when he heard a noise from right outside of the alleyway, he just assumed that it was still Nate.


	28. Chapter Twenty Seven

Nate liked to think of himself as a simple man. Things in his life used to be complex, especially when he was growing up, but he had finally reached a stage in his life where he’d thought that things had simplified. Job, boyfriend, coffee, sleep. Rinse and repeat. Details of each to follow. He thought he was lucky to finally be at the point where his routine could be boiled down so simply like that.

And he liked it. Nate had never been happier.

Of course, that meant that real life had other plans. 

He didn’t know how to feel about Dorian’s revelation. He was fully aware that that sounded like a cop out, even to himself and in his head, but he honestly didn’t know. He knew, logically, that murder was wrong. He had spent his whole career hunting down those that had committed it, of course.  But he also knew, ideologically, that the cracks in the judicial system were gaping wide chasms. He’d witnessed it first-hand more times than he could count, and it almost made him want to quit! He would have, too, if not for the fear that things would only be worse for the common man if he left. 

He also knew, emotionally, that it would destroy him from the inside out to turn the man he loved over to the police. Maybe that wasn’t the best reason, but he kept cycling back to it and subsequently putting off any kind of real conclusion. 

He couldn’t help it. He was a natural procrastinator and, well... he loved him. He loved Dorian with his whole, entire heart, more than anyone else in his life: though, to be frank, Nate didn’t have that many people in his life in the first place.

If the man he loved was doing the wrong thing for the right reasons, he didn’t have it in him to intervene. Especially since he knew that telling him had put Dorian in hot water with his brothers – aka the most important people in his life. Not lying to Nate anymore had meant enough to him that he’d completely disregarded their advice and inevitable anger. Which was oddly touching.

So, yeah, Nate didn’t know how to feel about this knowledge. It was complicated. And complicated sucked, even though Dorian was worth it. 

He’d already agreed to keep quiet, though... did that qualify as making a choice? Did he care if it did? 

Nate took a deep breath and set down his files in front of him. He looked over at Dorian’s empty desk almost wistfully. Dorian had been distressed enough – worrying over his brothers, and with an expression on his face that had been enough to distress Nate, too, though he’d done his best to hide that fact – that Nate had encouraged him to take a sick leave to work things out with his brothers. 

And... as irrational as it was... Nate already missed him. 

He wanted to talk about this, to think out loud with him. That was how they’d solved most of their  minor arguments and their one big one. But Dorian wasn’t here, and talking to himself about this would get them both – scratch that, because counting his family, it was more like  _ all –  _ in the hottest water of their lives.

Nate ran a hand down his face and groaned, tipping back in his chair and looking up at the ceiling. This sucked.

“Hey, man.”

Nate turned to see Joan standing there, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot. 

“Oh, hey,” Nate said, smiling tiredly, and then noticing the expression on his friend’s face. His expression creased with concern, and he straightened up to look at them properly. “Pull up a chair,  thude . You look like you’re  gonna have an attack.”

Joan smiled tightly and pulled Dorian’s chair over to  themself , sitting in it awkwardly. They fidgeted uncomfortably, which was never a good sign. Nate tapped his desk lightly.

“...Something I can help with?” He finally asked. 

Joan took a deep breath. “I... how much does Dorian tell you?”

Nate blinked. Oh, boy. Time for a bold-faced lie.

Or, as close to that as he could stomach.

He shrugged as convincingly as possible. “He pretends he tells me everything, but I can tell there’s more that he doesn’t say. He keeps things close to his chest and I try not to pry. If it’s important I know he’ll tell me. Why?”

That was close enough to the truth that Nate didn’t feel too bad lying to them, and similar to the things he had confessed to his friend in the past, when talking about Dorian with them. He hoped that that made his words seem more convincing.

They used to be true, at least.

Joan worked their jaw for a moment, as if thinking something over. “ Talyn overheard him confessing something last night. Something really bad... I wanted to make sure that wasn’t you, because they weren’t really sure, and if it was...”

Nate’s blood ran cold. “What’d he confess?”

Joan winced visibly, and, just like that, Nate already knew what  Talyn had heard.

He clenched his hands into his fists under his desk, where Joan couldn’t seem. His nails dug into the palms of his hands, but he ignored the pain and the  idents he knew he was making.

“I just wanted to make sure you weren’t involved,” Joan said gently. “‘Cos we’ve been friends awhile and I don’t want to see Dorian drag you down and stuff. I mean, I liked the guy, sure, but if the stuff we’re thinking is true, and I think it is, then... shit.”

“Joan,” Nate asked slowly. “What’d he confess?”

They sighed. “He and his brothers are the Royal Flush. We weren’t sure, even after the confession, but stuff started adding up  _ real  _ fast, and it’s enough to bring them all in. I just wanted to make sure you weren’t a part of it. But I believe you, and I know you’d never knowingly be involved with someone like that. I’m sorry, Nate.”

Joan placed their hand on Nate’s desk, giving him a sympathetic look that made Nate feel sick.

(Sick from lying. Sick from betraying his friend. Sick at the thought of betraying Dorian. And the latter was the worst of them all.)

Nate swallowed hard. His ears started roaring and his heart started beating in an odd staccato.  _ Your. Fault. Your. Fault. Your. Fault. _

_ Your fault. _

“No, there’s- there’s no way.” Nate’s voice came out unsteady, which made the sympathy on Joan’s face only deepen, and they moved their hand to rest on Nate’s arm. They didn’t seem to understand the cause of his reaction, though.

“I know this is hard to believe, but- but there’s evidence. A lot of it. I’m certain,” Joan sighed. “I mean, crap, I thought I knew Thomas. I thought he was a good person, our friend, but I guess he was just using me and  Talyn for information.”

Nate didn’t know Thomas nearly as well as he knew Dorian. But Dorian had always spoken highly of his brothers, especially in private, and especially of Thomas.  Thomas seemed like he had really, truly cared for Joan and  Talyn as friends. This would hurt him. And that would hurt Dorian. And that made Nate feel even sicker.

It took Nate a moment to unclog the words from his throat. “What evidence?” He asked.

“Well, there are a lot of coincidences, to start with. Cases that Dorian has been on or interacted with, where the perpetrator went missing before we could bring them to justice. In over half of them, the bodies turned up later with the cards matching The Royal Flush – the Jack of Diamonds more than anything else, so we think that’s Dorian.”

“Just coincidences?”

Nate barely allowed himself to feel even a hint of hope. Coincidences weren’t evidence, so maybe...

Joan shook their head, expression grave. “No.” Nate’s stomach dropped. “ Talyn heard Dorian talk about the original Royal Court case, and from the sounds of things, most of the things that they said back then were bullshit. There were so many holes in that case, ones that people just ignored because it seemed so open and shut. The kids in particular, their behaviour just didn’t line up with what the parents were saying, though people just chalked them up to them being traumatised.”

“They  _ were _ ,” Nate tried to argue. “Kids- kids don’t just choose to do that stuff. And that case made national news, if there were really that many holes in it, surely  _ someone  _ would’ve noticed.”

“People did! There are still so many people talking about it, even now, and they’re making a lot of good points, bringing up so many inconsistencies.” Joan took a deep breath. “Nate,” they continued, slower and leaning in slightly. “I don’t think any of them were forced to do anything, I think they were brainwashed. And I think the brothers continued to kill people, even after their parents left. I bet they know where they are, too.”

“So, all you’ve got now is a bunch of coincidences and theories, then,” Nate argued back, in a sharper tone. “That doesn’t sound like evidence to me.”

“We talked to Pryce again, too.”

Nate froze. “What?”

“Look, Pryce said a lot of things when we were interrogating him initially. We both chalked it up to him just being crazy, but-”

“He is! He’s crazy, and he’s completely obsessed with Dorian’s family. He’s delusional and – I don’t know if you remember – a  _ murderer?  _ And Dorian pretended to be on his side so we could get enough information to arrest him, I know you know that.  We lite rally misled him, about this topic in particular, you can’t possibly trust him over us!”

“I know,” Joan said calmly. “And I know Dorian what Dorian told him. He was bugged, remember? I listened to the conversation afterwards, too. That’s why we didn’t ask him about Dorian or any of his brothers, we asked him about The Royal Flush.”

Nate blinked, leaning back. “You what?”

“We asked him about The Royal Flush,” Joan repeated. “And he said he had photos of them. Photos which, if you remember,  _ Dorian  _ took to look over. That was the only evidence from Pryce that he asked to look at, and he didn’t let anyone else look at them first.”

“But he gave them back. We have those pictures, they’re in evidence; can’t you just look over them and see that you’re wrong?”

“I did,” Joan said. “But there isn’t a single one of The Royal Flush. Almost every other known copycat group in the city, but not The Royal Flush.”

“Then Pryce lied.”

Joan sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of their nose. “Nate, please. We’re going to bring a squad with us to arrest Dorian and his brothers. We’ll get a warrant to search all of their apartments, and I’m sure we’ll come up with enough evidence to convince you. You’re biased, here, Nate, you really aren’t seeing this clearly.” They paused for a moment. “Look... if you’re right, you’re right. But I don’t think you are. If we’re right about this... well, then you’ll see.”

Shit. Shit.  _ Shit. _

Nate was hardly paying attention to the last few sentences that his friend spoke. He heard that they were going to search the brothers’ apartments, and his mind started running and would not stop.

He didn’t know where Dorian kept everything. They hadn’t gotten to talking about any of the little details, yet. For all Nate knew, Dorian could have kept his weapons in his kitchen drawers, and his Jack of Diamonds costume in his wardrobe.

He doubted it was nearly that obvious, but still. Searching their apartments was bound to lead to the discovery of some kind of evidence, possibly even enough to put Dorian and his brothers away for life.

Nate would not let that happen.

Consequences be damned, Nate loved Dorian. And that outweighed his mixed feelings about his boyfriend’s actions.

He looked down at his hands, still squeezed into tight fists, and knew what he had to do.

Nate swallowed thickly. He looked up at his friend, who was still looking at him with a concerned, sympathetic expression. 

“Thank you for telling me this,” Nate then thanked Joan shakily.

He rose from his chair, and Joan gave him a startled look, standing, too,

“Are you okay, man? Do you ne-”

“I just- I need some air. Do you mind?” Nate finally forced himself to uncurl his hands out of the fists, and he gestured towards the exit.

“Uh, no... no, don’t worry. We’ll handle all of this.”

Nate thanked Joan again, equally shakily, and swallowed the lump in his throat.

He was out of the door before Joan could say something else to him, moving quickly and dodging the various co-workers that tried to greet him, paying them little attention. He was running down the street before he really realised what he was doing, and three blocks away before he even realized his phone was in his hand, dialling Dorian.

He ducked into a small, private area, away from any crowds, and raised it to his ear just in time to hear Dorian give him a confused hello.

“Get out.”

“...What?” Dorian asked, his voice mostly confused, but with a hint of hurt that Nate  _ really couldn’t focus on right now, dammit _ . No matter how much he may have wanted to take his time talking to and comforting his boyfriend, there were much more important things at stake, right now.

“You need to get out.” Nate elaborated, trying to dampen his panic, but already hearing it seep into his voice and into the phone. “ Talyn heard you telling me. They heard everything, and- and I think they found other evidence, too. They and Joan are coming with a squad to arrest you and your brothers and search your places, too. Dorian you need to  _ go _ !”

There was a beat of silence on the other end, followed by a stuttered, shaky breath that made Nate’s heart hurt. And when Dorian did talk again, his voice was thick.

“What about you?”

Nate faltered. “I... I’ll manage. Somehow. Joan already talked to me, they think I don’t know anything, so- so I’ll be okay. But, don’t you  _ dare  _ leave me so much as a trail of breadcrumbs, Janus. Go where nowhere can find you. Not-” his voice broke and he took a deep breath. “Not even me.”

He heard Dorian take a shaky breath. “But-”

“Jan, if you so much as wait for me, you’ll get caught. There’s no time. I- maybe this is immoral of me but this situation is already fucked, so I don’t care. I just want you safe. No, I  _ need  _ you safe, more than anything else in the world. So, go. We don’t have time to talk about this any longer. Don’t worry about me, just go.”

“I- I love you.” 

Nate smiled sadly, even though Dorian couldn’t see him. He squeezed his phone, wishing he could’ve been squeezing Dorian’s hand instead. Holding him. Kissing him. Seeing him one last time, because he knew in his heart he might never again.

Even as his eyes pricked, he didn’t let himself break. If he did, that might make Dorian pause. It might make Dorian look for him instead of running. Nate couldn’t let that happen.

“I know. I love you, too. That’s... that’s why you need to go.”

Dorian’s answering sob stabbed him more than any knife ever could. Nate covered his mouth, squeezing his eyes tight shut and feeling himself shake. He was doing all he could not to sob, too, not to run to Dorian’s side and hug him until all the problems in the world disappeared.

But there was no time.

They were being ripped apart, but Nate knew in the back of his head that they were lucky he even had the chance to warn him about this. He was lucky he got to say goodbye, even if he would do anything to get to see Dorian’s face just one last time.

“Janus Dorian Sanders,” He said, voice both firm and wobbling at the same time. “Stop crying over me and get your crap in a suitcase. Take your brothers and get out of dodge. Either we’ll see each other again one day, or you’ll have a really high standard for how you should be treated in a relationship. But don’t you make it easy on me, okay? You’re better than that.”

“I love you,” was all Dorian said. 

“I love you, too.”

“...Goodbye...”

Nate’s lip trembled. “Goodbye.”

He hung up. He felt like throwing his phone. Or throwing up. 

He knew it wasn’t much of a warning, but he hoped it was enough to keep the man he loved safe. He hoped it was enough to keep Dorian’s family safe, too.

Maybe this would even lead to a reunion. Maybe Dorian would finally get to see his fathers again, as Nate knew he desperately wanted to. The pinprick of joy he felt at that thought was hardly anything against the devastation that was pulling Nate apart, but it was something. Dorian could be happy, and that was all that mattered.

And if loving Janus put him on the wrong side of history... then, well, Nate was diving in headfirst. And he couldn’t bring himself to care.

Nate felt his back hit a brick wall before he even realised he was moving backwards. He ignored the sudden pain, and slid down the wall, falling to the ground and crumpling. He squeezed his eyes shut again as he covered his mouth with both hands, trying to keep the sobs that rippled through him from spilling out. He wanted to scream at the top of his voice, but he couldn’t allow himself to even make a single noise.

Tears leaked from the corners of his eyes and began to stream down his face, as Nate finally let himself cry.


	29. Chapter Twenty Eight

Dorian had already been headed to Thomas’s apartment when he’d gotten the call from Nate. He had texted his brothers – telling them they needed to talk, though not about the things he now knew they had to talk about – and they’d told him to meet him there.

He’d already been dreading it, but now it was so much worse.

Dorian hadn’t even had time to cry. He had sobbed the moment the phone call had ended, but he had known the moment he’d hung up that he could not keep crying.

He couldn’t collapse in the middle of the street. He couldn’t sob and shake and cry until it hurt so much that he passed out. He couldn’t turn on his heel and seek Nate out and wrap his arms around him, holding him and never letting go again.

He couldn’t save his relationship with the love of his life, so he might as well save the only family he had left.

Dorian forced himself to stay in one piece. He pushed  all his emotions deep, deep down, making himself numb and twisting the remaining bits of sadness that leaked out into a strong, red-hot anger. Sadness would break him into little tiny pieces. Anger would motivate him, and right now he needed to be strong more than anything else.

He would not lose anyone else.

That, more than anything, would truly break him.

When Dorian arrived at Thomas’s apartment, throwing the door open, slamming it shut behind him and facing his three brothers who looked up in unison, it was clear by the expressions on their faces that he hadn’t managed to completely hide his pain. Thomas and Emile looked at him with both  exhaustion and sympathy, while Remy just glared at him in open anger.

“Ah, shit,” Remy swore, waving his knife around in the air around him. “He fucking dumped you, didn’t he?  You _ dumbass _ . Come on, good dick isn’t worth this!”

“Remy,” Emile chided. “Now’s not the time.”

Thomas took a step towards Dorian. “But did he, though? Because, you know, if he did, we might have to deal with him...”

Dorian opened his mouth to snap at Thomas, but Remy interrupted him.

“Aw, hell, we’re gonna have to kill him twice over, now!”

“Oh, fucking- shut up!” Dorian shouted. “Shut up! He didn’t  fucking dump me, oh my god! He actually reacted pretty well, considering.”

His brothers all stopped, giving him matching confused looks.

Dorian took a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose with a shaking hand and then taking another equally  shaky breath.

“Then why the hell do you look like you’ve been crying?” Remy demanded. He flipped his knife, catching it easily and then doing it twice more. Emile gave him a short, concerned look, but must have realised that they had bigger things to deal with, and didn’t intervene.

“Because- because-” It took effort to unstick the words from Dorian’s throat. This was all happening so  quickly; it didn’t seem  _ real _ .

(And it was all his fault.)

“Because we were overheard,” Dorian finished. “And- and- and we need to go. We need to go, fuck- fucking  _ right now,  _ because there are people – cops – after us and we need to  _ run _ , before we get arrested.”

“Oh, god,” Emile said, covering his mouth with his hand.

Thomas reached for the phone in his pocket. “I need to call Uncle Hart.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Dorian!” Remy snapped, taking a step closer and snarling at his brother. “And I’m guessing your cop boyfriend is one of those guys after us, huh? What, you couldn’t keep it in your pants long enough to realise that  _ maybe  _ sleeping with the enemy would be a bad idea? You didn’t realise that choosing dick over family would have any kind of negative consequences?”

At this point, Remy was just being an asshole. Dorian was already blaming himself for all of this, so much so that he could hardly focus on anything above his self-hating thoughts, but bringing Nate down was too far, and Dorian would not stand for it.

Dorian took a step closer to his brother, glaring back at him with just as much ferocity, but with shakier hands, a tear-stained face and an emotional wall up that was so weak it would shatter at only the slightest poke.

“He was the one who warned me, asshole. How else would I know that they’re after us? It’s not like they’d call ahead!”

Remy raised his eyebrows, but before he could argue back, Dorian continued.

“Do you have any idea what he risked, making sure the information got to me? He said they don’t think he’s involved, yet, but I’m sure it’s only a matter of time. I love him, so don’t you fucking  _ dare  _ talk about him like that. He’s the reason we have any chance of getting away.”

Remy stared at him for a moment, before he huffed and crossing his arms, rolling his eyes and looking away. “Whatever.”

“You know what I’m sacrificing to make sure you all know about this, too,” Dorian spoke with venom in his voice. “If you’re not careful, I might turn around and go back to  _ him _ , instead. You can all leave without me. I didn’t even get to say a proper goodbye to him.”

Emile finally stepped between the pair.

“That’s not necessary, Dorian. We’re not breaking our family into even smaller pieces,” he said firmly, in a voice that left no room for arguments. “We need to go. I doubt we have time to get our things from our places, so we’ll have to make do with the disguises Thomas’s has. We split up until we reach the Canadian border, and then reunite on the other side, okay? That’s escape plan A, we’ve talked about this.” Emile turned to Thomas. “Call Uncle Hart, sort everything out with him, and make sure he agrees with the plan.” He then turned back to Remy and Dorian. “You two, quit arguing. You can fight all you want when we’re safe.”

“So, we’re really doing that, then?” Remy said. His anger seemed to drain right out of him, though he wasn’t looking at Dorian, instead at his twin, which likely helped. “We’re... we’re going to  Canada; we’re going to see...”

“Yes,” Thomas nodded firmly. “That’s where we’re going.”

Dorian supposed that that part of this whole thing was long overdue.

“This is  gonna be a long trip,” Thomas said, dialling his phone. “Even if we were making it together.”

“But...” Remy faltered, the reality of the situation seeming to hit him. “Em. What about Toby?”

Emile seemed to stutter to a stop all at once. He paused, hand gently grazing a pin that Dorian faintly recognized. 

“We have no choice,” Emile said, voice thick. “I love him enough to leave him safe and behind me. I have to.”

“This is such BULL!” Remy exclaimed.

“Don’t you think we know that?” Dorian snapped. “Now get your butt in gear and  let's go before everything gets worse.”

The two glared at each other, not dropping the gaze until Emile came out of Thomas’ bedroom holding a few disguises. 

“Again, arguing later.” Emile said. “Right  now, we have to get going. Thomas?”

“Uncle Hart is sending a few cars and drivers,” Thomas said. “They’ll take us out of New York and as far as the borders. We’ll each end up in different places, but we won’t be too far from the Canadian border anyway. Once we get there, we’re to ask for Tom, Drake, Phil, or Casey. Apparently, they’ll be expecting us and- oh, CRAP!”

Thomas ran into his room, brothers trailing behind him in concern. He started rooting through his drawers, not caring what fell to the  ground. Once he reached the bottom of  one, he moved on to another.

“Thomas?” Emile asked.

“The letters!” Thomas exclaimed. “They’re here somewhere! I stashed them in here. I can’t- they  have to come with us. Even if nothing else ever does, those  have to come! I’m not letting the police keep those.”

The brothers exchanged a quick glance before Thomas let out a victorious yell. He rose, clutching a thick envelope in his hands, then turned back to his brothers. 

“Okay. Now we can go. Everyone  get ready. This’ll be the worst road trip of your lives.”


	30. Chapter Twenty-Nine

It was, in fact, the worst road trip of Dorian’s life. If the smelly taxicab his uncle had enlisted wasn’t enough, the trip was long enough to give time for Dorian overthink practically everything in his entire life. 

Wonderful.

He’d decided things had gone wrong when his Papa was fifteen, when the woman who would have been Dorian’s grandmother had died. That seemed far back enough to be the root of the problem, which had in turn caused problem after problem of its own: resulting in the here and now, where Dorian and his brothers were separately fleeing the country, without more than the clothes on their backs and the few items they’d been able to snag from Thomas’ apartment. 

Dorian hoped that Nate was able to get back the jacket Dorian had shamelessly stolen from him. It was warm and nice, and Dorian almost wished that he had that with him, right now, though he knew that that would’ve likely made him feel worse.

Dorian had put Nate through so much, and the guilt was eating him up inside. He at least deserved to get his jacket back...

And there were the waterworks that Dorian had been trying so hard to suppress. 

He scrubbed his tears away stubbornly for what must have been the seventieth time. He refused to cry over this, at least until he was somewhere safe without anyone around to try and console him. He knew that there would be no such thing as comfort for this situation.

Not after what he’d done.

He’d finally trusted someone with every single part of him and this happened. He’d say it had backfired spectacularly, but it wasn’t even the someone he’d trusted that had caused this betrayal. Poor Thomas was probably devastated...

Dorian shook his head, pressing his cheek against the cool glass of the window. He wasn’t. Going. To cry. He just wasn’t. Not yet. Not here.

He took a deep,  shaky breath.

“How much farther?” He asked his driver, some woman with a T name.

“About a mile or so,” she hummed, glancing at him for a moment in her  rear-view mirror. “You know what to do when I drop you off?”

“I do,” Dorian said. “I suppose I ought to thank you for your help?”

“Your uncle already has,” she said with a firm nod. “I owed him a favour after... well, let’s just say this is repaying a debt of mine.”

Dorian snorted. “That sounds about right. Sounds like my uncle, too.”

They lapsed into silence again and Dorian silently made a game of making up a backstory for his driver in his head: something complex and light-hearted. It was better than crying. Anything would be better than crying. 

After another mile that felt more like an hour, she pulled up to the side of the highway and turned back to give him a nod. He gave one back and, as agreed, rolled out of the door not facing the road and into the snowy grass and trees surrounding it. He lay in wait and watched as his driver got out under the guise of checking her engine. She took a moment, before dropping something beside the car, closed the hood, got back in, and sped away.

Dorian army-crawled to what she had dropped, snagged it, and then quickly retreated back into the underbrush. It was a small purse, holding a wallet, phone and passport. Both the passport and wallet bore a false identity for him to bear – Dolos Solan  Aramai – and the wallet also held about three hundred dollars total in spare cash, a mix of  American and  Canadian currency. 

Dorian shivered, and not just from the cold. He knew what a fake identity meant: that he’d need to use it. And that he needed to ditch the one he already had.

He swallowed and withdrew his own wallet and phone. He stuffed what little cash he had had on him into the new wallet and then threw the original further into the bushes. That was easy enough to ditch, since even if some vagabond did find it, they were welcome to steal his identity. He had no further need of it, it seemed. 

The phone, though... 

He opened it, hesitating. Anyone could track him through this. It was practically child’s play. He’d done it himself many times, to others. Victims who’d seen fit to run, though few had gotten far enough to even attempt that. Dorian knew that abandoning his phone was that right move, probably even a necessary one. But... 

He clicked through to his photos and scrolled through the snapshots of memories that were most precious to him. His brothers, his birthday. Nate. Mostly Nate, Nate, Nate. Smiling. Laughing. Often touching Dorian in some way or another. He was so happy in all of the pictures, and so was Dorian. The them in those pictures had no idea what was to come. Dorian would ask why everything kept cycling back to him if he didn’t already know the answer. 

Dorian would have lied to Nate forever – despite the terrible feeling it had always given him – if he’d know that that was what it would’ve taken to keep him. He would have done  _ anything. _

He took a deep breath and held down the power button, shutting it all the way off. Not necessarily untraceable, but that did make it harder to find. And more convenient to keep on himself than it had been the whole journey to where he was now. 

He took another breath, the air lingering cold and sharp in his lungs. He was nearing the border. Soon he’d see everyone again. Everyone but Nate.

If only he’d been able to take Nate with him...

With a quick shake of his head, Dorian set out. To Canada. And from there, Matagami. A place almost entirely under the control of the Tasks, though underground, of course.

***

Emile found it was easier to give himself one task at a time. Get in the car. Ride to Vermont. Get out of the car. Rent a new car. Drive to the border. Meet Phil. Get across the border. Buy a coat. Drive as close to  Matagami as he could in a night. Rent a hotel. 

Lying awake on the hotel bed and missing Toby had put itself on the agenda against Emile’s wishes. But seeing as he had been avoiding it since setting out on this expedition, it was only fair that the feelings would catch him now, when he least wanted them.

Emile knew, logically, that suppressing feelings was unhealthy. He knew that the best way to deal with these things was to face them head on. He knew that he should just let himself feel.

But he did not. He could not.

If he faced the thought of never seeing Toby again, his heart would shatter into a million tiny pieces, and he wouldn’t have the time to pick up all the pieces.

He’d done this before. He’d lost Toby before. He knew what that feeling was like. He went through that and came out of it in one piece. He’d survived the thought of never seeing Toby again. It had hurt, sure, like a million tiny needles stabbing his heart. And he’d cried and he’d cried and he’d cried. He’d mourned a relationship that he’d never gotten to have.

But now, he’d had it. Now, he knew what it was like to hold Toby, to kiss him again and again and again until they were giggling messes, to whisper ‘I love  you’s dozens of times in the dark of night, and to hear them all back from a voice just as soft and full of adoration as his own. Now he knew what it was like to have one of the things he’d craved most for so much of his life.

And now, he’d lost it.

Emile squeezed his eyes tight shut and took as many deep, shaky breaths as he could manage.

He tossed and turned and tried his best to force himself to sleep, before finally giving up and taking a jaunt to the hotel vending machine, luckily not bumping into anyone on the way there. It sold chips, chocolates, and pain relievers. Some of the latter were in ‘pm’ form, which meant that they were precisely what he needed. 

Emile punched in the number for Tylenol pm and went back to his room. He downed the pills with some water and collapsed onto the bed. Perhaps not the best way to get to sleep but it was effective enough. 

The next morning, he woke about as happily as a snake in winter. But he was up, he forced himself to get up even though he didn’t particularly want to. And it was time to get moving again.

He’d stopped at a big gas station the day before to grab something to eat and bought an audio book, too. He wasn’t really paying attention to it, some political mystery or something, but it kept the car from being silent and kept him from thinking too much, which at $8.03 was quite a steal. 

Emile didn’t know what would happen when he reached Matagami. He knew who was there, but he wasn’t sure if he was looking forward to it or not. Logically he should be excited but... well, reality had other ideas. Life was more complicated than that. Feelings were more complicated than that. The scenery, at least, was beautiful.

Or, at least, it had been when Google Earth had last taken pictures. 

Emile swallowed and refocused on his audiobook. He’d been there soon enough. 

***

To say that Thomas was hurt would have been an understatement. He’d understood why Joan and Talyn had done It – of course he did! It took a remarkable kind of human to understand why the Sanders did what they do and to not be bothered by it. That didn’t mean it didn’t sting. That didn’t mean he hadn’t been hurt and painfully disappointed when they did what they did.

He’d finally found friends, people he could relax and be himself around. People he didn’t have to mother hen or be the next head of the family for. People to whom he bore no responsibility to outside of their mutual desire to keep the relationship going. He’d genuinely liked them!

But... they were ready to throw him and his entire family behind bars seemingly without hearing their side of things. That stung and he wasn’t going to pretend it didn’t. This was his  _ family _ . For crying out loud, they could have at least  _ talked  _ to him!

Perhaps that was an unrealistic expectation for him to have. That thought was buried somewhere in the back of his head, but the feelings of hurt and betrayal were far stronger than his attempts at reason.

Now, he’d never see them again. He couldn’t even say goodbye because then they’d know how far he was running. Then they’d find him, and that would cause disaster, for him and for his family.

The only people he had left.

He cleared those thoughts from his head and pulled in to ‘Motel Le Caribou’ to rent a room and wait for the others.

Thomas glanced out of the car windows, checking to make sure there was no one nearby. There was a couple walking down a street, just across the small parking lot, but they paid his car no attention.

Then he pulled out his burner phone and texted Uncle Hart to tell him that he’d arrived safely and without incident. Once that was done, he pocketed it again, sighing softly and leaning back against his headrest. He ran his fingers through his hair, almost tugging at it. Everything was a mess. 

He reached into his coat and pulled out the letters from their fathers. The last thing they’d given them before fleeing for this very city. To Dad’s moms and the Task’s protection. Which now Thomas and his brothers needed, too. 

This sucked.

Thomas tucked the letters back into his jacket. It wasn’t like he didn’t already have them memorized, having read them over and over again when they’d been first received, looking for some clue to find his fathers and put his broken family back together again; he just didn’t want the police getting a hold of something so important to their family. Something so meaningful and packed with love as a last goodbye. If the universe wouldn’t let him have a last goodbye with his best friends, then they definitely didn’t get to get their mitts on his last goodbye from his parents.

Though, he supposed, it wasn’t really a last goodbye when he was about to see them again, was it?

In all his years of daydreaming about this moment, he’d never thought that he could have such mixed feelings about finally seeing his parents again.

He spent a few more minutes just sitting back and thinking, before a knock on his window all but startled him awake. He turned, eyes widened and shoulders tense, but he relaxed again slightly at seeing Remy just outside the door, gesturing at him to get out of the car.

Sighing a little, Thomas sent his uncle another text. Then, he climbed out and faced his brother.

“Hey,” he said, in a tired voice, as he leant back against his car down.

“Hi,” Remy responded, in an equally tense voice, with a matching expression. “How long are we waiting here?”

Thomas rolled his eyes, tracing shapes on the ground with his shoe. “We’re waiting on Dorian and Emile, and then... well, presumably we’ll be picked up.”

Remy frowned and kicked the tire of Thomas’ rental car. “Have I mentioned that  this sucks ?”

“Only like twenty times,” Thomas said. “...But I find myself agreeing.”

“Good. Cause  this sucks .”

“...Twenty-one.” Thomas stretched a little with a groan. “Did you run into any trouble on the way here?”

Remy shook his head. “No one’s chasing after us that we don’t have a  head start on.” 

“Good. This whole ordeal is making my anxiety spike.”

“I’m surprised you’re not having some kind of attack.”

Thomas laughed. “I’m probably going to later. Right now, I’m hanging on, but it’s barely by a thread. This is all happening so quickly, I don’t think I’ve really processed it yet.”

“Here.” Remy handed him a small flask. 

Thomas frowned at it, then at Remy. “Tell me you didn’t drop by your place for that.”

“Nah. I just stopped somewhere.” Remy waved a hand. “And I didn’t drink and drive either, so don’t start freaking out. Waiting ‘til I got here was a good enough motivator.”

Thomas nodded and took a quick swallow. Brandy. Not his favourite, but the way it burned his throat was oddly soothing. He passed the flask back to Remy.

“Thanks.”

Remy shrugged. “No prob. How long do you think they’ll take to get here?”

Thomas shrugged. “I haven’t been here long. So probably not forever. I rented a room for us, if you wanna rest in there a bit.”

“What I want,” Remy said slowly. “Is a  venti sized cup of coffee. And  _ yet!” _

“I know, I know,” Thomas sighed, massaging the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry. We’ll find a coffee place nearby, or I’ll buy you some of your own stuff.”

Remy huffed noncommittally and Thomas knew he was still upset. He’d probably had some very bad gas station coffee on the way here, only worsening his already-bad mood. Thomas was glad he wasn’t yelling anymore, though in the back of his mind he knew that that was probably due to Dorian’s absence. The urge to defend their little brother was still there, as it usually was, even often when Dorian was wrong.

Thomas knew that that would be a mistake, though, and he hardly had the energy to argue a case he didn’t really believe in. He would just do his best to stay out of Remy's way, then. Hopefully, that would be enough to keep the peace.

He was about to continue the conversation – though there was nothing he particularly felt like talking about – when two more cars pulled into the parking lot, one after another. They parked, and after a moment, Dorian and Emile emerged from either one. Thomas texted Uncle Hart once more to update him and then moved to greet his brothers.

Dorian looked like he’d been crying. It made Thomas’ heart twist. 

“You okay?” He asked. 

“I’m fine,” Dorian brushed off his concern, in a thick voice that showed that, no, he very much wasn’t, though that was expected. “Where are we going from here?”

Thomas hesitated, but decided not to press it. “Uncle Hart is telling them where we are. Then, they’ll be on our way.”

“So, I'm guessing we shouldn’t ditch?” Remy asked.

Thomas couldn’t tell if he was  joking but judging by Emile’s  gasp, he wasn’t the only one.

“We are  _ not _ ditching!” He exclaimed. “Even if we wanted to, this is a small town. They’d find us.”

“Right, right.” Remy huffed a little and took another swig of his flask. “...So, what’s our play, here? Do we know how we feel about... well... the whole thing? Or what?”

Thomas hesitated. “We play it by ear. They probably missed us even more than we missed them. So, we’ll have to see if absence made the heart grow fonder or whatever.”

His brothers nodded.

Thomas couldn’t help but feel relief at the fact that Remy and Dorian weren’t fighting anymore. But the avoiding each other's gaze wasn’t too much better, and, knowing them and the situation at hand, he knew in his heart that the argument would continue another time. Hopefully not soon.

It was a couple more minutes of waiting around and talking before a red ford focus pulled into the parking lot. Four men climbed out of the seats. Four men that they hadn’t seen in a very long time.

They recognised them, though. Of course, they did. Even in their many years apart, they could never forget their fathers’ faces. And, though they knew they looked older, they were still the same people.

Their dads stepped out, regarding them with something that seemed caught between awe and sorrow. 

Their dad, Patton, had grown a beard since they’d last seen him, a beard interspersed with stripes of grey. His glasses had also gotten about half an inch thicker, enlarging his already big and watery eyes, with crow’s feet peeking out from behind the frames. He looked as though he’d graduated from the definition of ‘dad’ to the definition of ‘granddad’, even though he wasn’t one yet.

Virgil, their Pop, had probably changed the least. His worry lines had deepened, and he’d let his hair grow out and fade back to its natural blonde, having lost the black dye, but other than he seemed just the same as ever. Worrisome, lanky, and protective.

Contrastly , their father – Logan – had likely changed the most out of all of them. He also had a scruffy beard adorning his jaw, but the white in it was more intense, and instead of thicker glasses – with his looking about the same as they always had – he’d gained a long, metallic, blue cane. A cane which he seemed to be relying on pretty heavily.

And then there was Roman. Their Papa. He was still broad, tan, and golden, though his strong form was wrapped in a thick coat that Thomas’ Floridian sensibilities envied, as he shivered from the cold. The only other noticeable change to his appearance was that his copper-colored hair had turned a dignified silver and the crow’s feet that nearly matched Dad’s.

Now that they were finally getting to see Roman again, the brothers were struck with the reminder that Pryce really didn’t look much like him at all, even when he tried his best to mimic him.

They were there. Time had touched them. They were real. And they were right there.

Tears started falling down Dad’s face and he covered his mouth with his hand. 

“You’ve all gotten so big,” He said, voice soft and hoarse. “Goodness... I’m sorry, we weren’t there to watch you grow.”

The brothers exchanged a few glances, before Thomas looked back at them with a sad smile. 

“It’s okay,” he said gently. “We’re all together now. And after the week we’ve had... there’s really nowhere to go but up.”


	31. Chapter Thirty

“Okay,” Patton clapped his hands once, looking around at his family, who were now gathered in the warm living room of his house: a bright smile on his face. “So, now that we’re finally all together again, I think we should do something! Maybe dinner or-”

Remy stood up from the chair he’d been fidgeting in, interrupting him. “I’m going out,” he announced.

Patton’s smile dropped, and he blinked, confused and a little disheartened. “Huh?”

Dorian huffed, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms. He leant back in his chair, tipping and balancing it on its back two legs.

“ Of course, you are,” he mumbled.

Remy scowled, turning and glaring at Dorian. “Oh, what? So,  _ now  _ you think we should run our decisions by each other? Where the hell was that when you chose your little  _ boytoy  _ over us?” He spat out the last words.

“Alright, hold on-” Logan took a step in their direction, his cane making a quiet nose when it hit the carpet, away from Virgil – who he’d previously standing so close with that their arms had been pressed together – holding his free hand out in an attempt at a placating gesture.

Both Remy and Dorian ignored him.

Dorian stood up suddenly, pushing his chair back and returning Remy’s glare.

“That is  _ not  _ what happened.”

“Oh, really? ‘Cos that’s what it looked like to me,” Remy leant forward, continuing in a slower and more venomous voice for emphasis. “You  choosing your  _ boytoy  _ over  _ family _ .”

“Shut the hell up. And don’t you  _ dare  _ talk about Nate like that.”

Remy laughed, short and mocking and it made Dorian want to punch that look right off his face. He just clenched his hands into fists at his side, instead.

“What are you  gonna do about it, huh?”

“Oh,  _ fuck you _ .”

Remy raised his fist, looking only seconds away from decking his brother, but Thomas chose that moment to finally get between the pair. He held his hands out, placing them on his brothers’ chests and pushing them apart. Dorian and Remy let him do so without  complaint but continue to glare viciously at one another around Thomas’s head.

“Calm down, both of you,” Thomas said, looking between them. He then turned his gaze on Remy in particular, shooting him a chastising look. “Leave him alone, Remy. Now isn’t the time for this.”

Remy turned his glare on Thomas.

“Always taking his side, aren’t you, Thomas?” He spat out.

Thomas sighed, but didn’t respond to that. He knew he  couldn’t, so he just gave Remy his best tired, but disappointed look.

There was a moment of tense, uncomfortable silence. Roman, Patton, Logan and Virgil were at one side and all seemed at a loss for words, frozen or looking at each other helplessly. It had been so, so long since they’d last spent any time with their sons. They hardly knew how to talk to them, and they certainly didn’t know how to keep them from arguing.

Emile sighed, looking both disappointed  and so, so very tired, just like Thomas. His eyes drifted over to the dads for a moment, and he gave them his best, slightly sheepish smile and half-shrugged helplessly in their direction.

Roman’s hand found its way into Patton’s, and he squeezed his husband’s hand supportively.

Remy took a step back away from Thomas and Dorian, his glare melting into a look of mostly irritation, and he ran his fingers through his hair as he turned away from them. He exchanged a short look with Emile.

“Whatever,” he said eventually. “I’m still going out.”

“Are- are you sure that’s a good idea?” Patton asked. “You might get spotted.” 

“Agreed,” Logan nodded. “Maybe you should way until everything’s died down, before you start going out again.”

Remy turned to them with a look that was still a little annoyed, but not nearly as much as it had been when looking in the direction of the brothers. Mostly, his expression had been one of slight disinterest, and it seemed to make all four of the dads uncomfortable.

“I’ll be fine. It’s not like I’ll be going anywhere brightly lit, you know, and if anyone recognises me, I’ll just say ‘oh, I get that a lot’ or something. Plus,” Remy reached up, tapping the sunglasses that were propped up on his head. “These babies do wonders for hiding my identity. And I need a real drink or three or, I  dunno , a dozen. But I’m not doing that with any of you.  Em’s been giving me those guilt-trippy looks all night, which is totes unfair, ‘cos it’s not day drinking so it’s not against his dumb rules.”

“But-” Virgil began.

Remy waved his hand, interrupting him. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll be careful,” he said. “I’ll be back tomorrow, probs.”

“ Tomorrow?”

“Yeah. I’m not a morning person, so, IDK, it’ll be afternoon by the time I wake up.”

“Wake up?” Logan asked.

“Yeah,” Remy shifted his weight from one leg to the other, resting one hand on his hip. “I’ll find someone to spend the night with.”

“...Oh.”

Thomas sighed. “TMI, Remy.”

“Whatever, sorry, I guess,” Remy rolled his eyes. “You know, maybe I’ll just go back to the bar after that, I dunno.” He waved his hand dismissively again. “I’ll text  Em when I decide.”

Dorian huffed loudly, and Remy turned to glare at him once more. Neither said anything else to each other, though, which seemed to relieve both Thomas and Emile. Remy then turned away again, huffing equally loudly and equally irritated. He ran his fingers through his hair, and took his sunglasses off his head, putting them on over his eyes.

“Right, well I’m out,” Remy finished. “See ya.”

Then, without any further statements, he left the room. The rest of his family listened as he left the door behind him open, stomping down the hallway and out of the front door, slamming it shut behind him. The noise echoed, and for a while, those remaining sat and stood in a heavy silence.

After some time, Dorian finally spoke up again.

“I’m going out, too,” he said, in a voice that only slightly wobbled. “I need a walk to clear my head.”

***

The reunion wasn’t going quite as well as Patton had wanted it to. He was finally,  _ finally  _ getting to see his kiddos again, after far too many years apart, and he had been so, so ecstatic in the hours leading up to it. The moment he had gotten the call from Hart, he’d gotten excited, and he’d shared his excitement with his husbands as he waited impatiently for the text that meant it was time to come pick his sons up.

And, of course, he was excited to see his cousin again, and meet the teenage Missy and Peter, but that excitement was greatly overshadowed by his elation at finally seeing his sons again.

And at first it had been great, though perhaps his excitement had made him unobservant of their sons’ feelings, especially as they exchanged hugs that were, in hindsight, tenser than he would’ve liked, but then he’d realised that his sons were different.

Of course, they were different. People changed a lot over thirteen years, especially when those thirteen years started in the teenage years and ended in adulthood, and Patton had known that, he’d expected that. His husbands – Logan and Virgil, in particular – had warned him of that.

Though perhaps he’d been a little too quick to brush off his husbands’ warnings, and he made a mental note to apologise for that later. His sons weren’t just different, they were upset. They were angry.

They were hurting, so clearly hurting, and Patton didn’t know them well enough anymore to know how to help them. He wanted to, so desperately, but he hardly knew where to start.

Remy and Dorian had fought right in front of them – with venom in their voices and such anger in their eyes – they hadn’t known how to intervene. They hadn’t known how to help. Thomas had stepped in, and both him and Emile had looked like they were used to this. They had been, because their fathers hadn’t been there to help.

Patton and Virgil and Logan and Roman had just stood there, helpless. Words got stuck in their throats and died on their tongues.

Remy had brushed them off so easily, interrupting when they’d tried to talk to him. He had left to go out drinking, and some of the things he’d said just before leaving – and the reacting expressions on Emile’s face – had pained him. There was so much to unpack there, so many words turned to needles that pricked Patton’s heart, and he had hardly known where to start.

Then, Dorian had left, too: clearly upset- as he’d been since the moment they reunited. Even in the moment they’d reunited, he’d looked like he’d just been crying, but he flinched at their touch and denied them when they’d tried to talk about it. Thomas had shaken his head at him, silently telling Patton to leave it alone. Patton had listened, of course, but he hadn’t wanted to.

Patton had wanted to talk to him, to comfort him, but he hadn’t known how. From what Hart had told him, his boyfriend, Nate, had been involved in the recent situation, and Patton wanted so desperately to help his son through heartbreak.

He would try, he told himself, when he figured out where to start.

And soon after Dorian had left, Thomas and Emile had, too. They’d said they wanted to keep track of the news about the police’s search for them. When their dads had offered to help them, they’d declined, and said that they could handle it themselves. And they could.

They were adults now; they didn’t need any help, and especially not from parents who hadn’t been there in a while.

So, the dads were left alone again, with barely an understanding of what had just happened, and a disappointment that could practically be sensed in the air. They exchanged looks with similar  expressions and could tell that each of them  were feeling about the same things.

“Well, that did not go to plan,” Roman huffed, crossing his arms.

“I told you that this would not be easy,” Logan said. He rested a hand on his husband’s arm. “It has been a while; we need to remember to give them their space. They are going through a lot, right now.”

Roman sighed. “I know, but... I had hoped...”

“I know,” Logan said, with a soft, but sad, smile. “I know.”

Roman returned the expression immediately, immediately covering Logan’s hand with his own and squeezing it gently.

Patton sighed. “They’re hurting. I- I can tell that they’re hurting, but I don’t know how we can help them. We- we need to help them, but-”

“But how much of that hurt was caused by us?” Virgil finished.

“Yeah...” Patton agreed.

“We did what we had to!” Roman argued.

“But do  _ they  _ know that?” Virgil said. “Come on, didn’t you see the way they looked at us? I mean, they  sorta seemed happy to see us, but they also seemed tense and closed off. It’s been a while, but they’re our kids, couldn’t you tell that they’re unhappy?”

There was a beat.

Patton sighed. “Yeah... but we can fix this, right?”

Neither Logan nor Virgil looked certain, but Roman straightened up at Patton’s question.

“Of course, we can!”

“Can we?” Virgil said.

“Yes, we can!” Roman said. He then took Virgil’s hand in his own and pressed a kiss to the knuckle: a gesture so familiar that it was practically routine, but even after two and a half  decades of marriage, it still brought a slight smile to Virgil’s face. “Come on, my love, don’t you trust me?”

Virgil tried not to smile – but not really, because he was secretly a sap and his husbands all knew that – and let out a quiet sigh, rolling his eyes.

“It’s been years, are you ever going to stop using that line?”

Roman grinned. “Not unless it stops working.” He leant forward. “And I know it won’t, because I know  _ you _ .”

“Do you, though?” Virgil teased.

“I should hope so,” Logan added. “Marriages do not tend to last this long if the partners don’t know each other well.”

“Yup!” Roman said. “And I know that you’re all adorable saps, and you love my flirting, including you two,” he gestured towards both Logan and Virgil using the hand still intertwined with Virgil’s. “Even though you may pretend not to.”

Patton laughed, nodding in agreement as he tucked his hand into the crook of Logan’s elbow.

“And  _ I  _ know that we can do this. They might’ve grown up, but they’re still our kiddos. We know them, and we can get to know  all the new parts of them that we don’t! We can do this.”

Roman nodded firmly. “We can fix our family.”

***

A few hours had passed since Remy and Dorian’s argument.

Remy was still out, to no one’s surprise, drinking and partying and possibly seducing the prettiest eager stranger he could find.  Actually, not possibly:  _ probably _ . Thomas, Emile and Dorian knew their brother, and they knew that he was probably focused more on doing that than anything else, more likely than that.

Despite sleeping with strangers having never solved any of his problems before, Remy still seemed determined to try, though.

Anxiety about Remy getting them caught gnawed in the back of Dorian’s mind, but it was overcome by the relief of not having to worry about arguing with his brother, at least for the rest of the evening. Thomas and Emile were safe. They were reasonable, unlike Remy.

Dorian had spent his walk composing himself.

He could not run off and go back to Nate, no matter how much he might want to. He could not cry, not around the dads. In fact, he could hardly handle even being around them.

Too many memories.

Good ones: of family movie nights, of being sung to after nightmares, of getting help with his homework, of baking together, of trying on make-up.

And not-so-good ones, too – of waking up sobbing after nightmares, and having the attempted soothing of his brothers not being nearly enough; of falling behind in school and having no one left to help him; of having to learn how to do so many things from his brothers, and mourning the life they could have had, learning things from the people they had been supposed to learn from.

Of picking up the pieces of a broken  family and figuring out how to make it work with only half the members it was supposed to have. And they did figure it  out, more or less .

He loved his dads, and he wanted so desperately for things to be good.

But where would they fit in this new family that the brothers had built for themselves, that had been precariously stuck together through determination, tears and taking care of each other in moments when they were supposed to take care of themselves?

Dorian sighed.

Why couldn’t something in his life be simple? Must everything be ruined with mixed feelings, making Dorian practically nauseous at the different thoughts and feelings waging war inside of him? It made him make bad, poorly thought out decisions at the whim of whatever thought or feeling bubbled up the most.

Couldn’t he have just one good thing?

Couldn’t he have just one good thing that he didn’t spoil by worrying, ruin by lying and destroy by making the wrong choice, despite the advice by those around him?

Dorian pushed  all those thoughts and feelings down, to be left for a later date, preferably one after his death, so he never had to deal with them again. Instead, he tried to focus on something else, and when he flopped into a chair to join Emile and Thomas watching the news, he brought up the only other topic he had on his mind.

“God, why is Remy like this?”

Better to push his anger onto someone else than himself.

Thomas glanced up from his new laptop at Dorian. Emile’s eyes flicked up at him for a moment, but they quickly returned to the screen as his brow creased, his arms tense as they were wrapped around himself.

“You’re  gonna have to be a bit more specific,” Thomas said.

“Well, it’s everything! You know? Why’s he  gotta be a dick about everything? I know he’s pissed, but he doesn’t have to be such an asshole, especially not in front of... of  _ them.” _

Thomas sighed, letting out a short, humourless laugh. “Well, I guess that’s just Remy being Remy.”

Dorian huffed, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. “Yeah, yeah, but I wish he’d stop.”

Emile then hunched over the laptop, mumbling something under his breath that neither of his brothers could quite make out. Both Thomas and Dorian turned to look at him.

“What’s that?” Dorian asked. “Couldn’t hear you,  Em .”

Emile’s head snapped  up; his expression harder than Dorian had seen in a long time.

“Well,  _ maybe _ , Remy’s right,” he said. There was a moment of silence, where both Dorian and Thomas stared, startled, at him, before he sighed. “I just... Dorian, we  _ warned  _ you. We told you not to tell Nate, and you didn’t listen, and now look where it got us!”

“But-”

“But nothing! You messed up, and- and now...” Emile trailed off. “And now Remy has the right to be mad at you. We all do.”

“How come Toby got to know and Nate didn’t?”

Emile sighed. “That’s not the same thing.”

“How?” Dorian demanded.

“Because Toby and Nate, they- they aren’t on the same level. We know Toby, and-”

“And, what, I don’t know Nate?”

Emile opened and closed his mouth again. He glanced at Thomas for a moment, but all it took was just a look to know that their older brother had no idea whose side to be on. He wasn’t going to be any help, for either of them.

“You have no right to say that,” Dorian continued, glaring at Emile. “I know Nate. I knew he wouldn’t tell anyone, and I was  _ right _ . Don’t forget that he’s the reason we were able to get out without being caught.”

“And  _ you’re  _ the reason why we’re in this mess in the first place!” Emile exclaimed. “It wasn’t because of  Nate; it was because of you! You chose him over us.”

The anger in Dorian’s face was starting to melt into pain.

“You- you can’t say that,” he said in a thick voice.

“I  _ can _ ,” Emile said firmly. “Because it’s true. You messed up, take responsibility for that.” He paused for a  moment; his expression full of hurt. “You... I lost Toby, again. And, again, it’s all your fault.”

There was a beat.

Then Dorian stood up so quickly that his chair fell over. The last thing he heard as he stormed out of the room, leaving the door wide open behind him, was a quick exchange of words between Thomas and Emile.

“What, you’re blaming him for the first one, too?” Thomas snapped.

“I- I didn’t mean it like that.”

“But that’s what you  _ said.  _ Come on, Emile, I thought you’d be better than that.”

Dorian stormed out of the hallway, feeling his eyes prick for what must have been the millionth time that day. He couldn’t cry, not again, and he especially couldn’t cry so close to  _ them _ . He’d have to find somewhere  private and compose himself there.

Emile was right. Emile was right. Emile was right. How could Dorian? How could Dorian do this to his family again? How could Dorian fuck up this badly, for the second time in his life? Dorian kept ruining his families lives by not listening, by being selfish, by following his gut and his gut being wrong, and,  _ fuck _ , what could he do now?

Dorian stopped at the end of the hallway, reaching for the handle of a door so he could escape and avoid any more (deserved) arguments with his family. But then, he froze in place when he heard a voice from behind them that belonged to neither of his brothers.

“Gosh, honey, are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Dorian answered, refusing to turn around. His voice was thick, and it was obvious that he was about to cry.

A hand landed on his shoulder – he used to be able to tell his dads apart from touch alone, but he supposed that the time apart had changed that – and Dorian somewhat reluctantly allowed it to turn him around. His eyes immediately landed on all four of his dads, who were huddled together, each with looks of concern and sympathy, which Dorian could only read as pity.

“Is there anything we can do to help?” Logan asked.

Something in Dorian snapped.

That was the last straw. The last straw that broke the camel’s back. He shoved the hand off his shoulder and started laughing – loud and humourless, covering his mouth with his hand and feeling his shoulders shake.

He was sure he looked some insane halfway between laughter and tears – perhaps he even had both, though he wasn’t paying enough attention to know if there were tears running down his face, too – and all four of his dads looked startled.

“Anything you can do to help?” Dorian parroted back, in a mocking tone of voice. “God, of course there used to be. I was a kid when you left, of course I fucking needed your help back then. But I guess I just got used to not getting it, huh?” He laughed again, equally humourless as before. “It’s almost funny,” he spat. “You weren’t there when we needed you, so now that you’re here we  _ don’t  _ need you. You’ve certainly got some pretty interesting timing, huh?”

Roman took a step towards him, reaching his hand out, but Dorian took a larger step back, pushing the door open behind him so he wasn’t just trapped in the hallway with the four people he wanted to see least, right now.

“Dorian, I-”

“Oh, don’t ‘Dorian’ me,” Dorian scowled. “What could you possibly say to me that could make all of this any better?”

“We can fix this,” Patton said. “We can-”

“Ha! You? Fix this? You were the ones who broke it in the first place! You tore our family in two and left us to put ourselves back together. And, you know what? We  _ did _ ,” he snapped. “ _ We  _ put our family back together, just the four of us, and now there’s no room for any of you. You did this to yourselves.” 

Then, he let out another bark of humourless laughter, as he ran his fingers through his already messy hair. “God, but we’re still fucking broken, aren’t we?” He continued. “Thomas and Emile picked up the parenting roles since you weren’t there- Thomas most of all but Emile deals with most of Remy’s bullshit – and, trust me, you’ve  _ barely  _ seen Remy’s bullshit. That little glimpse earlier was nothing. And, fuck, I’ve ruined every good thing that’s ever happened to me. So, yeah, I guess we’re still broken, but it’s nothing  _ you  _ can fix.”

“Dorian-” Logan started.

Dorian turned his glare on him. “Fuck you.”

Virgil stepped between them. “Hey, now-”

“ _ Don’t _ .”

“C-come on,” Patton said, holding his hands out in a placating gesture, clearly trying so desperately to keep the peace. “Can’t we try to fix this? We’re still your dads, right?”

“Are you?” Dorian spat. “‘Cos I’m not sure if you still are,  _ Patton _ .”

Silence.

Stunned, painful silence.

Dorian almost regretted his words, but the devastated expressions on their faces gave him  some kind of sick satisfaction – though every word had hurt him, too. He then turned on his heel, leaving, and the last thing the dads heard before the door shut behind him was the beginning of a sob.

They stood there in their continued stunned silence for a moment, none knowing what to do.

Then, Thomas came out of the door Dorian had originally come from. He rushed past them, heading towards his younger brother, and didn’t even spare his dads a glance. It was like he hadn’t even noticed that they were there.

He opened the door that Dorian had gone through – and for a moment they could hear the painful sobs again, each one like a dagger to  their hearts – before shutting it quickly behind him.

Another moment passed, and then Emile appeared in the doorway that Thomas had come from.

He looked surprised to see them, but his expression remained mostly exhausted. He tried his best to smile in greeting at his dads, but it was sad and pained.

Patton swallowed. “Is everything okay?” He asked.

“Yeah,” Emile said, in a voice that seemed so very forced. “Just fine.”

“Are- are you sure? Is there anything we can do to help?” Patton asked, a little hint of hope in his voice.

Emile shook his head. “Nope. I’ve got this handled.”

And then, he took a step back, and shut the door between them.

The dads had always thought they’d made the right decision, all those years ago. It was for their sons’  safety; they’d told themselves for years. Bringing their children into hiding with them would hurt them more than anything else, they’d thought. They had thought that their sons had been better off this way.

But had safety really been worth it?


	32. Epilogue

There were few things in the world more familiar to Toby than missing Emile. Emile himself, for example. Or Remy. He knew them well, almost better than he knew himself. But there were few things in his life quite as tangible and wounding as the lack of either twin in his life.

He’d experienced thirteen years of that – thirteen years of waking up and thinking about how much he missed them, every single day.

And now he was feeling that absence again. For the second time in his life, the gaping wound and gaping chasm where the Sanders twins should be had been opened, with repairs nowhere in sight. They had been torn from him, so suddenly and without warning that he almost thought it was a nightmare.

It was a nightmare, but not one he could ever wake up from, no matter how hard he may try.

He knew they were on the lamb. Running away. He’d seen the news report just that morning that they were nowhere to be found. He hadn’t even gotten the chance to say goodbye, couldn’t have even heard it from their own mouths. And he knew that there was probably a reason that they hadn’t taken him with them, probably a good one. He trusted them, of course, but he still wanted to call bull on it. They’d been so, so  _ close _ to finally getting something akin to a happily ever after... and then... 

Toby was hardly going to be the one to tell them killing wasn’t worth it. As far as he knew, they’d been doing it as long as he’d known them. They’d never discussed the details with him, though there’d been an understanding he was sure all three of them felt. The killing was as natural to them as cooking food to eat. A learned skill, but vital to their lives. He wasn’t ever going to spurn them for that.

He’d had enough time to make his peace with it.

But one thing that he was well and truly tired of was being here, staring up at his ceiling and missing them more than lungs can miss air. It was impossible to sleep, despite the heaviness in his eyelids.

Was there anything in the world worse than missing someone you love?

Missing two  someones , he supposed.

A knock resounded at Toby’s door, sounding frantic and loud and heavy, a sudden hammering that had made him jolt and sit up in surprise. Reluctantly, he rose from his spot on the floor and crossed to it. He opened the front door and blinked at who was standing there.

“...Nate?” He asked. “It is Nate, right?” He paused, his gut feeling being suspicion, but concern rising, too, as he saw on Nate’s face an expression that he assumed was similar to his own. “Dude, are you okay? You look like you’ve been through hell.”

Nate brushed off his concern and used one sleeve of a dark leather jacket to wipe at the tear tracks which leaked from beneath his sunglasses. 

“I’m fine,” he said briskly. “Can I come in?”

Toby hesitated. “...Was it your fault?”

Nate looked as though Toby had sucker punched him. Shoulders slumping hard enough to make the bag he was holding lose its perch on his shoulder. He pushed the strap back up, and didn’t take his eyes off of Toby. Nate looked for a moment like he might  cry again, but he sucked in a deep breath.

He shook his head. “I’m blaming myself. But I didn’t turn them in, I would  _ never _ . Someone overheard Dorian telling me... that’s how they found out.”

Toby hesitated, feeling the brief urge to slam the door in Nate’s face, but then losing it almost immediately. This was the one person who understood, so he stepped to the side and held the door open wide.

Nate hurried in, dropping his bag on the couch before starting to pace somewhat frantically. Toby let him, moving to go make a couple cups of coffee, just to have something to do while Nate gathered his thoughts. The second one was brewing when Nate finally stopped pacing and mumbling to himself.

He faced Toby, his jaw set. “I’m  gonna start out by saying I know how insane this is.”

Toby raised an eyebrow. “Okay?”

“I mean, you don’t know if you can trust me, and I don’t know if I can trust you either, really. I- I don’t even know for sure if you already knew-”

“I did.”

Nate continued without pausing, “-though I guess I am a cop and indirectly responsible for this mess and I did track you down just for this, so I guess as far as trust goes, I’m o for three.” He paused. “Is that even how that saying goes? Never mind, my point is-” Nate took a deep breath, steadying himself. “The one thing we’ve got in common is the Sanders brothers. We both love them – or, at least, I assume you do, based on how you and the twins acted at Janus’ birthday party – er, Dorian – sorry. And based on everything’s Dorian told me about you.”

Toby hesitated. Then, he nodded.

“I love them,” Toby said. “In different ways, but equally as fierce for both twins. We were friends when we were kids. Remy’s the best friend I’ve ever had, and Emile...” he trailed off. “Being ripped away from them again feels unbearable.”

Nate wet his lips and took another deep breath. “...I know how you feel. And what I’m about to offer, you’ve  every right to turn down. Especially since it means pretty much leaving behind any attachments or family you have for what’s – frankly – probably a pretty a selfish reason. All I ask is that you don’t blow the dog whistle on me if you say no.”

Toby furrowed his brow. He took a moment to finish brewing the coffees, an excuse to think about what the other man was saying, before turning back to Nate.

“...Okay,” Toby said “I promise.”

It was an easy decision.

Nate gave him a watery, grateful smile. “Okay, so... I want to go after them. Not to get them or anything, I just... I already miss him. This may seem so stupid, but Janus is probably the love of my life. And I don’t want to lose him over- well, over anything, but especially not this! I just- maybe it’s too sudden for only a nine-month long relationship, but it already feels like forever and I just can’t lose him.” He sighed, voice filled with desperation. “But I have no idea where they would have gone. So, I don’t think I can do it alone. You’ve got every right to say no, but Toby I’m begging here. Help me find them.  _ Please.” _

Toby hesitated. But if he was honest... he didn’t have to think that long.

His mind had been made up practically the moment he’d  realized what Nate was asking him.

He passed Nate the second cup of coffee. “Let me pack. And rent an RV. From there we can get rid of our tracks and head north. I know their uncle was Canadian, so they’ve probably got family up there. But there will probably be eyes on us so we should go south first, make sure there’s no one on our trail, not to mention that Canada is a big place. So, it’ll probably be awhile before we catch up but-”

“You mean it?” Nate looked at him with disbelief. “Like, really?”

Toby smiled at him, a mix of sadness and a hope that he hardly let himself feel. 

“Let’s go on a  roadtrip .”


End file.
